


Something I Need

by llenorion



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2018-12-04 06:05:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 28,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11549040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/llenorion/pseuds/llenorion
Summary: When Courfeyrac signs them both up for a dating show, Enjolras expects to have one of the most frustrating summers of his life. What he doesn't expect is to have his world shaken by a pretty, snarky blue eyed producer he can't stop fighting with and yet... still finds himself wanting to be around.In this behind the scenes look we get a closer look at the drama, the chaos, and the challenges of falling in love where you least expect it.





	1. Week 1 - First Impressions

** Reality TV World **

 

**Breaking News: Combeferre, CEO of Les Amis, Heads to the Small Screen Looking For… A Husband? Long running ABC Series “The Bachelor” Returns With Major Twist This Summer.**

\------

 

ABC’s long running franchise about finding love had an admittedly dreadful season last year, culminating in that memorable blow up between spurned contestant Karen Collins and bachelor Thomas Clark. A blow up that, rumor has it, got the show banned from ever filming in Rio again.

 

After months of managing bad press and criticism that the show’s formula was overdone, scripted and horribly dull, it appears ABC is prepared to take a bold move to position itself back at the top. Rather than green lighting the expected return of the Bachelorette, ABC is ready to hit redo on their failed season with a new Bachelor who may be going home with a future husband at the end of this season, rather than a wife.

 

Famously open about his bisexuality, Combeferre, son of federal NY judge Stefan C. and CEO of successful non profit ‘Les Amis’, is reportedly quite excited for the new formula which will show both men and women competing for his affection. He is quoted as saying in the ABC press release - “It’s been a long time coming, and it’s time for our community to have the mainstream recognition it deserves. Love is love.”

 

If that wasn’t enough of a shake up, ABC has also reported that they will be releasing episodes as the show is filming - with exit interviews of eliminated contestants occurring live after the episode airs. Not quite sure how producers and editors will make the accelerated format work, but I for one will be sure to tune in this year to see if “The Bachelor” will regain their place on top.

 

\------

 

Enjolras was going to kill Courfeyrac.

 

He wasn’t sure when, and he wasn’t sure how, but he would.

 

“Come on now, Enjolras, it’ll be fun!” Courfeyrac had said cheerfully, after coming home holding up the offers from ABC notifying them that they had been impressed by the applications Courf had submitted behind his back. They had been selected as candidates for the newest season of “The Bachelor”.

 

Enjolras had never even _seen_ an episode of “The Bachelor.”

 

He had tried to talk his way out of it, but Courfeyrac had been determined to go. Once he learned who the bachelor would be, Enjolras wasn’t terribly surprised as to why. Combeferre had fascinated Courf for _months_ and even Enjolras had to admit his non-profit, Les Amis, was doing some amazing work.

 

“I need my wingman, Enj, and you need a break. Grad school is over in two weeks and this show is like a guaranteed vacation surrounded by loads of hot people. What’s not to enjoy?”

 

“It pushes my career plan back months, Courf. I’ve got internships to line up since our current one is almost up. Then I have to help out with those protests – “

They argued about it for a solid week, Courfeyrac unrelenting in his constant nagging and bribing before Enjolras had finally consented if only to get Courfeyrac to stop talking long enough for him to at least focus on his thesis.

 

Now though, riding in a limo with a half dozen other men and women dressed in various array of finery sipping what was likely outrageously expensive champagne, Enjolras was wishing he’d held out.

 

At his side, Courfeyrac was attempting to charm a pretty blonde haired girl in a tight, halter-top pink dress that flared out at her knees. Courfeyrac was taking no chances and had dressed to impress in a trim-cut black suit with a crisp dark green button down. The top three buttons were undone, revealing just a hint of the smooth tan skin beneath. His black, unruly curls were styled and swept back.

 

Enjolras eyed Courf’s bare collar debating whether or not to take off his own tie. It felt too tight and awkward around his neck. Like he was 13 again playing at an adult at one of his father’s parties. It only added to the discomfort of being surrounded by strangers who were all inevitably going to turn on each other either trying to get a man they don’t even know or trying to make themselves famous. Enjolras didn’t care about any of that.

 

He fidgeted with the black silk of the tie, loosening it till he felt like he could breathe a little better. He was about to just take it off when he felt the car slow to a stop. He peered around bodies to get a look out the window at the huge, ostentatious mansion they would be staying at for the foreseeable future.

 

A petite, red haired girl with heavy make up gasped in awe. “Oh isn’t it beautiful! I can’t believe we get to stay here. We’ll be living the high life that’s for sure.”

 

Around him, the other passengers nodded in agreement, some whispering excitedly to each other. Enjolras fought the urge to roll his eyes. Who cares about love when you can just have money? This whole production was so messed up. He caught Courfeyrac’s eye and glared.

 

The asshole just grinned cheekily and tugged Enjolras’ tie even looser, unbuttoning several of the top buttons on his white dress shirt, despite Enjolras’ feeble protests.

 

“Keep it loose, gives you that hot, disheveled “Fuck the world” look.”

 

“I thought that was my normal look.” Enjolras’ deadpanned, running a rough hand through his blonde curls.

 

Courfeyrac laughed, “Maybe, but at least for tonight try to say it with your body not your words.”

 

“No promises.” Enjolras muttered as the door to the limo opened and a 20 something year old woman with dark black hair pulled into a loose bun wearing a long sleeved, tight, thigh high dress, blood red booties and a no nonsense expression stuck her head in.

 

“Alright divas, my name is Eponine and for all this to go smoothly, I need you do exactly what I tell you, ok?” Her voice was rich and slightly husky.

 

She stared them down until they all murmured assent.

 

“Alright, good. Now, Ken doll, mind scooting over so a girl can sit?” She gestured to a tall blonde man by the door to scoot over. He seemed irritated at her curtness but moved.

 

She took the seat, a clipboard in hand and looked at them each one by one before ticking off information on her clipboard.

 

The red haired girl tried to ask a question but Eponine just raised her hand, gesturing for the girl to be quiet.

 

Enjolras bit back a smirk at the affronted look the red haired girl shot Eponine. The dark haired girl looked like she wanted to be there less than him.

 

“Ok,” She finally said, finishing her notes. “Here is how this is gonna go. I’m going to read off your names. The order I read off your names is the order you will be exiting the car. We will let you know when to go with this.” She held up a small box glowing blue. “When it turns red, exit the car. You get thirty seconds to make an impression with Combeferre. No do overs. There are thirty of you spread across this drive way and we don’t have the time. Any questions?”

 

Enjolras had forgotten about his part. What was he supposed to even say?

 

Ken doll scowled, “Thirty seconds? That’s hardly enough time to – “

 

“Thirty seconds. No exceptions.”

 

Ken doll huffed, sharing an annoyed look with a brunette man across from him.

 

The blonde girl Courf had been talking to raised her hand.

 

Eponine raised a brow, a hint of amusement playing in her cool gaze. “This isn’t school miss. You don’t need to raise your hand.”

 

The girl blushed dropping her hand to smooth out her pink dress.

 

“I was just wondering if you could give any advice on how to best use our limited time. You’ve met him before and would know better than us what he doesn’t like.”

 

Eponine considered her for a long moment before answering. “Don’t be slutty or overly cocky would be my advice, but I get the feeling that’s not your style anyway.”

 

The girl shook her head fiercely.

 

“Good.” Eponine pulled up her list and started reading off the names one by one.

 

Enjolras’ name was the first to be called out.

 

Perfect.

 

\------

 

Grantaire clutched the cup of hot coffee in his hands as he curled up into his chair, where he’d managed to get a good angle behind the cameras of the steady stream of men and women emerging from the limos as well as Combeferre’s attempts to maintain charm and neutrality even through the most brazen of introductions.

 

Poor guy. Grantaire felt for the guy, a calm no nonsense type who wasn’t interested in all this aggressively sexual flirting. Or in… oh my. Grantaire blinked and leaned forward to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. Some guy was wearing a duck costume and walking to Combeferre, whose expression went tight – a forced grin frozen on his face.

 

“Hey there,” The guys voice was muffled under the giant head. “Name’s Echo. You can swim in my lake _anytime_ , stud.” On stud, he swung his duck hips side to side in what he probably thought was a seductive move.

 

Grantaire sniggered into his coffee, trying not to ruin the take with the loud guffaw threatening to pour out of him.

 

“Right….” Combeferre, at a loss for words, shook the duck man’s hand and directed him to the party where the other guys and girls were waiting.

 

The director yelled cut, and Combeferre slumped forward a little before heading towards Grantaire, who was still bent over and sniggering into his coffee.

 

“You know,” Combeferre started, collapsing into the chair beside him, “When I agreed to do this show, I was actually hoping to meet someone normal. I wasn’t expecting groping and animal costumes.”

 

Grantaire shot him a skeptical look, “Have you never seen the show? Every year. It happens every year.” ABC could say they were shaking things up but people were people and the show always seemed to attract the type willing to do anything for a little… _attention_.

 

Combeferre opened his mouth to reply when Eponine appeared at his elbow, clipboard in hand.

 

“Last car ready?” He took a long swig of coffee, willing the caffeine to kick in as fast as possible. He’d had a late night and an early morning due to call times and prep work and tonight looked like it would be another long one.

 

She nodded. “Yea, only seven people left and then we can shoot the party.”

 

Combeferre, who’d perked up at hearing only one car was left, deflated a little.

 

She smiled sharply, “Don’t worry ‘Ferre. It’s only a couple of hours and then you can send the worst ones packing. Besides, I think you’ll like this last group. At least three of them seem interesting. I can definitely think of at least one I know R here will like.”

 

She shot Grantaire a teasing look. He rolled his eyes and took another long drink of his coffee.

 

“Combeferre!” An AP shouted across the courtyard, waving him over to where he was standing with Fantine, the show’s host.

 

He sighed, pushing back up to his feet. “Duty calls. I’ll see you later.”

 

Grantaire watched him go before shifting back to look at Eponine. “I’m not sleeping with any of them Eponine. Especially not this year.”

 

She snorted, “Who said anything about sleeping with them? There is nothing wrong with a little appreciation. Besides, what is so special about this year?”

 

Grantaire sighed, thinking back to his meeting earlier that day with Valjean – one of the show’s executive producers. Grantaire had been working on “The Bachelor” and its various incarnations going on six years now. It had been the first job he could get out of art school, and he’d been waiting for the day to leave and get his own projects. It had looked to be a sure thing until last years fiasco had led to new management and a far more stringent evaluation of proposals.

 

“I had a meeting with Valjean earlier today about our proposal.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Not gonna happen.”

 

Her face fell, but she didn’t look surprised. Still, it must have been a blow. They’d been working on this proposal for well over a year. It was meant to be their ticket out of here; a chance to finally be on their own two feet and making their own calls.

 

Meant to be a reason for Grantaire to want to get up in the morning.

 

He hastily shoved that thought aside. Dwelling on those particular issues wouldn’t help right now.

 

“With Javert assigned to the show as the new top Executive Producer and showrunner, Valjean is worried about appearing to show favoritism and side step the new “status quo” that Javert seems to be so fond of. According to Valjean he’s not open to approving and passing along proposals from people he doesn’t know.”

 

Eponine shrugged. “So fuck him. We’ll kick ass this year. Follow all of the rules and make the best damn show he and his bosses could possibly want. Make him notice us. Then, at the end of the season, we’ll march into his office and demand our own projects.”

 

Grantaire snorted, “You make it sound so simple.”

 

“Why can’t it be?”

 

“Things don’t usually go my way.” He shrugged absently. “Probably time I just accept it.” He stared at the swirling brown coffee in his mug, wishing it were something slightly stronger.

 

Eponine took the now empty seat beside him, tentatively placing a small hand on his knee. “You ok R? What’s really going on?”

 

His lips tightened and he drank deeply from his cup, the hot liquid warming him in the cold night air.

 

“Im fine, Ep. “I’m just… I’m just tired.’ Tired of this job, of the hours, of taking to sleeping in a trailer on set because he can’t stand to go home to an empty house. Tired of the empty, numb feeling that had started clawing its way back through him and making every day a mission. Tired of trying to stay sober despite his last disastrous relapse.

 

Eponine, bless her, didn’t try to tell him everything would be ok. She just left her hand on his knee, a comforting warmth, and redirected her focus back to where the director was calling for action.

 

The final limo pulled into the shot, slowing to a stop at its mark. Interest interrupted his melancholy as the car door swung open and a gorgeous blonde emerged. He was dressed surprisingly casual compared to the other men and women who have parading themselves all night. Worn, black jeans were stretched tight over strong thighs, his red jacket falling to his mid-thigh. His white dress shirt was partially unbuttoned revealing smooth, golden skin. A black silk tie was hanging loosely, almost as if putting it on had been an afterthought.

 

Grantaire felt his mouth dry and fingers itch to sketch the man’s marble features and the way the lighting in the courtyard made his messy, golden curls shine like a halo. He felt as if he were gazing upon the sun god himself.

 

At his side, Eponine snorted and smirked smugly. Grantaire narrowed his eyes but shut his mouth, which had, at some point, fallen open. He averted his gaze to Combeferre, who seemed similarly entranced at the Apollo who was walking purposefully towards him – not an ounce of the flirtatious energy or cockiness many of the others had displayed. Just fierce, intoxicating determination.

 

Grantaire had an irrational flash of jealousy towards Combeferre that he quickly stamped down. He was a professional, damnit. He was here to do a job, not ogle the suitors.

 

Rather than going in for a hug or jumping into a ridiculous routine, Apollo merely stuck out a hand for Combeferre to shake.

 

“Hello, my name is Enjolras.” His voice was rich honey, words clipped and precise. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Your work is quite impressive.”

 

“Ah, thank you.” Combeferre smiled politely, taking the offered hand in a quick, firm shake.

 

“My friend Courf and I are actually interns at one of the local organizations Les Amis does work with. We hope to pursue similar work full time now that we’ve finally graduated.”

 

Grantaire sent out a prayer that this man wouldn’t be one of those hero-worshipping types who would follow Combeferre around like a puppy. Yet, judging by the self-assuredness and passionate fervor emanating off the blonde, Grantaire figured they should probably be more worried about their show turning into a political discussion every week.

 

“Oh?” Combeferre seemed genuinely interested now. “What did you study?”

 

“Political science, but my masters dissertation was on the importance of local, grass root movements in enacting social change, and the importance of each citizen’s involvement in their society.”

 

“Really? What sort of methodology did you use? Any particular case study?”

 

Enjolras’ posture relaxed and his blue eyes brightened as he opened his mouth to talk more thoroughly about his research to Combeferre who was suddenly quite alert and engaged.

 

Fortunately, before they could get too far, they were quickly cut off by the director gesturing at them to wrap it up. Flushing slightly, Enjolras straightened and shook Combeferre’s hand again – their hands lingering just a little this time – before making his way up the steps to the party. Grantaire couldn’t help himself as he watched the blonde stranger walk away. Idealist or not, he had a nice ass.

 

The way Eponine chortled told Grantaire he had probably said that last bit out loud. Fuck it. It wasn’t like she didn’t already know he would find the blonde hot. It wasn’t breaking the rules to just look.

 

He quickly glanced at Combeferre, raising a questioning brow. This was his supposed search for love after all and it was Grantaire’s job to make sure they knew the right contenders to feature. To his utter lack of surprise, Combeferre gave a discreet thumbs up, lips curved in a small smile.

 

Looks like the Adonis was here to stay for a while. They’d work out a show narrative for him tomorrow in the studio.

 

“We’ll need to cut down on the political discourse,” Eponine murmured, scribbling messy notes on her clip board, “but the viewers are going to love him.”

 

Grantaire hummed in agreement and turned his focus back to the limo where the remaining suitors were emerging one by one. None of them opted for any crazy antics or costumes, thankfully, but the red haired girl seemed like she was going to be a nightmare, and Eponine – judging by her scowl – agreed.

 

There were a couple pretty boys who seemed nice enough, if dumb as rocks and a professional ballroom dancer who was cute about the way she tried to pull Combeferre into an admittedly awkward attempt at a salsa. He might have Latin in his blood but certainly not in his hips. The girl seemed sweet though, so Grantaire had hopes for her.

 

Eponine paused in her note taking as a pretty blonde in a light pink dress and kind smile emerged. With an odd look on her face Grantaire couldn’t quite read, Eponine watched as the girl, who introduced herself as Cosette, managed to charm Combeferre with a few clever jokes. Her gaze sharpened when Combeferre kissed the girl’s knuckles – sending her off to the party in a fit of charming giggles.

 

Huh.

 

Before he could question her, the final man emerged from the limo and Eponine was back to taking furious notes.

 

The last man was practically bouncing with energy. His dark curls had started falling out of its slicked style to fall into his piercing green eyes. He smiled a bright, open grin that made Grantaire want to smile himself from its infectiousness.

 

“Hi there, handsome.” The man greeted, winking at Combeferre in a way that managed to be charming rather than irritating. “I’m Courfeyrac.”

 

He gave a little half bow with an exaggerated flourish as if it had been a grand pronouncement. The wide teasing grin kept the act from appearing ridiculously theatrical.

 

Combeferre chuckled, “Nice to meet you Courfeyrac. Courf…” He looked the other man up and down. “Are you a friend of Enjolras?”

 

Courfeyrac straightened, wide eyes blinking in momentary confusion before his expression cleared into one of fond exasperation.

“What kind of stories is he spreading?” He leaned forward to run his fingers slowly along the lapel of Combeferre’s grey suit jacket. “I assure you the more lascivious ones are only partly true.” He teased with a wide grin, showing off his straight white teeth.

 

Grantaire smirked at the strangled sound that emerged from Combeferre. It had become obvious throughout the evening that he didn’t quite know how to handle being flirted with so openly. Fortunately, Courfeyrac wasn’t being quite as brazen as some of the others.

 

He was impressed when, noting Combeferre’s slight discomfort, Courfeyrac actually stepped back, shoving his hands into his pockets.

 

“Come find me later, ok? I’ll tell you all about the time we wound up in a cell with a goat after a pride parade.” With that he made his way towards the steps, brushing against Combeferre on his way past in a manner that was so subtle it could have been accidental. Combeferre turned as the other man walked past and watched, transfixed, as the vibrant, dark-haired man disappeared into the mansion.

 

“Well,” Grantaire noted to a bemused Eponine, “This looks like it’ll be a fun season.”

 

\------

 

Enjolras was hiding in a corner. At least that’s probably what Courfeyrac would call it once he came back from mingling. Enjolras considered it a strategic retreat from the drunken mayhem that was ensuing.

 

When Combeferre had come into the party followed by more cameras and employees of the show, several of the men and women and descended upon him, eager for a fraction of his time. It had led to quite a bit of tension amongst the room.

 

So far at least three drunken outbursts had occurred along with a spunky dark haired girl with blue tips and the guy Eponine referred to as Ken doll nearly coming to blows after he criticized the shortness of her skirt.

 

Enjolras had been ready to step in and rip the guy a new one but the girl, he thinks her name was Randi, was more than capable of taking care of herself. If a scruffy PA wearing a red beanie hadn’t broken them up, his money would have been on her kicking Ken doll’s ass.

 

The fighting calmed down after that, but the drinking only picked up. Courf had decided that was a good time to win over the others and left him to go mingle.

 

(“If we’re going to be here for more than a couple weeks, we should really try to make some allies.”

 

“This is a dating show, not war, Courf.”

 

“Love is war, darling.” Courfeyrac had shot back.)

 

Since then, Enjolras had been sitting in the corner nursing a beer, observing. A couple of what Enjolras assumed were PAs, had been eyeing him and made gestures that seemed to indicate they wanted him to at least sit with other people.

 

He could only imagine how he was coming off on camera.

 

“You know, they would stop glaring if you just joined us.” A soft voice said. Enjolras startled and looked up to where a petite figure was standing in front of him with long blonde hair braided with flowers.

 

“Sorry?”

 

“You’ve just been sitting here since your friend left and even I’m starting to get itchy by the way those guys are glaring at you.” He eyed the guys he had assumed were PAs and saw that, yes, they were still glaring at him.

 

“Come on,” they held out a hand for Enjolras to take. “You can join me and my friends. Promise not to bite, unless you ask us to.” They winked teasingly and Enjolras felt his lips twitch into a small grin.

 

He took the hand and allowed himself to be pulled over to a circle of couches and cushions where four guys he didn’t recognize sat, along with the blonde haired girl from his car and Randi.

 

“Guys,” his apparent new friend addressed the group, “this is…. I never actually did get your name.”

 

“Enjolras.”

 

“That’s a lovely name.” They beamed at him. “Ok, guys this Enjolras. Enjolras this is Bahorel, Marius, Fueilly, Bossuet, Cossette, Randi, and I’m Jehan.” Jehan pointed them off as they said their names.

 

“You can sit next to me if you’d like.” The blonde haired girl from the car, Cossette, offered. He noticed a flash of disappointment cross the freckled faced Marius as he took the offered seat. Looks like someone did find love tonight, he noted with amusement, just not with the man he was supposed to.

 

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the PAs make a gesture that conveyed, “fucking finally” clear across the room.

 

He fought the urge to roll his eyes. Enjolras didn’t really care if he made it in their footage or not.

 

“Settle a debate for us, Enjolras.” The dark skinned man, Bahorel, said. “If King Kong, wielding a lightsaber had to face off against an army of regenerating rhinos with bulletproof hides, who would win?”

 

Enjolras blinked. “Really?”

 

“Really. We hit a tie, and Jehan won’t pick a side.”

 

“I’ve yet to hear an argument that I believe hands either party an unquestionable victory.” Jehan argued.

 

“Clearly the rhinos.” Enjolras decided after a moment of deliberation.

 

“Hah!” Bahorel punched the air, “I win.”

“No way!” Fueilly interjected. “It’s King Kong. With a _lightsaber._ ”

 

The debate started all over again, with Enjolras interjecting his own arguments. It was fun, debating like this over something so trivial. He was used to all of his debates having to do with things like budget cuts or civil rights. It was… nice.

 

Over an hour went by, arguing and talking about different subjects, when Enjolras realized it had been nearly two since he’d even seen Courfeyrac. He excused himself and went looking for him, just to make sure some drunken asshole hadn’t tried to start something with him.

 

When he didn’t find him in the house, he made his way outside, searching the various paths. He passed by various crewmembers, suitors throwing up after having too much to drink, and a couple loud arguments before he finally heard Courfeyrac’s voice.

 

“No, no.” Courf laughed, “You’re supposed to hold it like this.”

 

Enjolras peered around the corner and saw Courfeyrac with Combeferre at what appeared to be an outdoor bar; complete with a pool table, because of course they had something like that in this giant mansion.

 

Courfeyrac had discarded his jacket, rolled up his sleeves and was bent over the table showing how to line up the pool cue with the ball. He took a few different strikes, sinking several of the balls. Combeferre sat on a bar stool, watching on, impressed. His own jacket had been discarded on the bar behind him, but his black dress shirt remained fully buttoned.

 

Courfeyrac dropped the cue on the table turning towards the other man, a pleased grin on his face.

 

“See? Simple. Anyone could do it.”

 

“Hmmm.” Combeferre pushed himself onto his feet, coming to stand next to Courf. He picked up the pool cue, examining it as though it would reveal all its secrets.

 

“Perhaps,” Combeferre kept his gaze trained on the cue, “I just need a little… assistance.” He bent over, cue held awkwardly in his large hands, a faint flush on his cheeks. “You could guide me?”

 

Courf blinked in surprise. “Are you…. Flirting with me?”

 

Combeferre flushed deeper, shoulders tensing. He dropped the cue back onto the table.

 

“I’d been trying to all night. Clearly I need more practice if you’re just now noticing.”

Courfeyrac slapped a hand over his face and Enjolras resisted the urge to do the same.

 

“No, no. It’s just you seemed anxious whenever I, or anyone else said anything remotely flirty to you. I don’t want to assume.”

 

Combeferre sighed, turning to face Courfeyrac, his arms crossed loosely across his lean chest. “I don’t… I don’t date much.” He murmured, “Now there’s thirty of you, and I…. I’m not really sure what I’m supposed to be doing.”

 

Courfeyrac smiled softly, “I’d make a crack about this being the wrong show for you, but I don’t want to ruin the moment.”

 

Combeferre huffed out a short laugh before tentatively reaching out to grasp Courfeyrac’s hand. Courfeyrac was uncharacteristically quiet as Combeferre brought the knuckles to his lips, brushing his thumb along skin.

 

Enjolras felt a jolt of hope and excitement for his friend before deciding he was in good hands and Enjolras should probably stop intruding on the moment. He backed away slowly, which proved to be a terrible idea as he backed around a corner right into a strong, broad chest.

 

“Oh shit.” He cursed softly, whirling around to face the scruffy PA in a beanie who broke up the fight between Randi and Ken doll. He seemed a bit winded at being run into.

 

“Sorry. I was trying not to disturb them.” He said softly, gesturing behind him to where Combeferre and Courf were.

 

“You know,” the guy sounded amused, “I don’t think you know how this is supposed to work.”

 

Enjolras frowned at the guy, who, up close, he noted had the bluest eyes. Eyes like stormy seas. He had angled cheekbones under the week old scruff and black hair peaking out of his red beanie. Yet, he looked tired. Not just the tired of a bad nights sleep, but the exhaustion of one who hadn’t known peace.

 

“Pardon?”

 

“Normally, the way this show works, you would be heading in there to try and whisk Combeferre away from your friend.” The PA smirked. “One might think you don’t want to be here.”

 

Enjolras bristled. It was true he didn’t want to be here, but he didn’t like the other man’s implication.

 

“I’m not going to force myself onto a man who is completely capable of choosing who to spend his time with. I can’t help who connects with, and I sure as hell won’t force myself onto him. Its disgusting how these people are throwing themselves at a man who has barely had the time to learn their names.”

 

He cut himself off before he went off on the full tirade he felt bubbling up, realizing that he probably shouldn’t be saying something like this to someone who worked on the show. However, the other man seemed more amused by his outburst than angry.

 

“By all means, Apollo, don’t let me stop you. Please, tell me more about how much you hate the show you signed up for. You were really starting to get going there.” The man waited with mock attentiveness for Enjolras to continue.

 

He bristled, but held his tongue. When it became clear Enjolras wouldn’t continue the PA just rolled his eyes and pushed past him.

 

“Hey, what are you – “

 

The PA turned back, a faint hint of frustration now creasing his expression. “My job. I’m doing my job.” He said slowly, as if Enjolras was dense. “It’s time for the rose ceremony bit but we can’t exactly do that with the main attraction. Now, run along and get in your spot. I’ll collect your friend.”

 

He turned on his heel and rounded the corner. Enjolras stared after him, mouth open in shock. He wasn’t used to being dismissed like that.

 

Now wasn’t the time to do anything about it, though. Apparently he had somewhere to be.

 

He made his way back to the main rooms, where the others were all grouped together. The men and women he’d seen getting sick had cleaned themselves up and they all looked ready for the camera.

 

He searched the room for a familiar face and was immensely grateful when he saw Bossuet waving him over.

 

“Where have you been?”

 

“Looking for Courf. Ran into some other people instead.” The residual annoyance must have tinged his words because Bossuet frowned.

 

“Anyone give you any trouble?”

 

“Nothing I couldn’t handle.” Enjolras assured him, but he felt a slight tug in his chest at the worry this man he had just met was showing for him. Maybe he wouldn’t find love here, but maybe Courf was right. He could use some more friends.

The room went quiet as Courfeyrac and Combeferre entered separately and made their way to their spots, jackets on and not a hint they’d been up to anything. Not a hint except for the tiny, happy smile curving the edges of Courfeyrac’s lips and the way Combeferre’s gaze seemed to settle on him just a bit longer than anyone else.

 

Enjolras was distantly aware of the director calling for action and Fantine stepping forward to start the whole rose process. When asked to present the first impression rose, Combeferre picked up the red boutonniere and took his time looking at everyone in the crowd, as though he were having a difficult time making the decision.

 

To many of the more persistent men and women’s frustration and to Enjolras’ quiet excitement, Combeferre made his choice.

 

“Courfeyrac.”

 

Courfeyrac stepped forward, a little surprised, but his small, happy smile widening to a toothy infectious grin.

 

“Will you accept this rose?”

 

“Definitely.” Combeferre’s shoulder’s dropped a little in relief as he pinned the rose to Courf’s suit jacket.

 

He paused a moment, as if debating something, before dropping a tentative hand to Courf’s waist and pulling him in to place a chaste kiss on Courfeyrac’s cheek. When they both pulled away their cheeks were flushed.

 

Courfeyrac took his place to the side, catching Enjolras’ gaze and grinning, while they waited for the names of those who would be staying to be read out. It was a long repetitive process as each person was called forward and asked the same question and presented with a rose. Enjolras was a little surprised to hear his own name called out early on as he hadn’t spoken to Combeferre at all since that first impression where almost started rambling about his research.

 

In the end, it would seem his rambling is what did it.

 

“I hope we can talk more, soon, Enjolras. I was quite interested to hear more about your work.” Combeferre told him as he pinned the rose to his jacket.

 

It sounded more like the makings of an academic debate than a date, but Enjolras didn’t mind. He liked having people to talk to that were actually interested in his work. Courf was great, but he could use some new people to bounce ideas off of.

 

He took the spot off to the side by Courfeyrac who was buzzing with excited energy and completely oblivious to the jealous glares of some of the other men and women. Enjolras narrowed his eyes dangerously at those shooting some of the more pointed looks until they quickly backed off.

 

The rest of the ceremony went by without much fanfare. He was pleased to find that the group he had made friends with earlier in the evening were all staying. In the end, eight of the thirty were sent home including the small red haired girl from their car and the guy, Echo, who had managed to survive the whole night just wearing his duck costume. He didn’t recognize the others and at this point he figured there was no point to learning the names.

 

It was early morning by the time the shooting finally wrapped for the night and those who were staying were directed to a wing of bedrooms and told to bunk up. There didn’t seem to be a rule about men and women sharing rooms and the group Enjolras had fallen into that evening all decided to take two rooms next to each other and share the two queen size beds in each room. He ended up in a room of four with Courf, Bossuet and Fueilly. Bossuet and Fueilly were more than happy to share leaving Enjolras to share with Courfeyrac.

 

It reminded Enjolras of when he was a kid and still allowed to attend sleepovers. It was a nice feeling. To be surrounded by friends and potential friends. He may not leave here with a lover, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t try to leave here with another kind of love.

 

Enjolras rubbed his face and turned over onto his side. The exhaustion was making him sentimental. He opened his eyes and peered across the bed to Courfeyrac who was playing idly with the boutonniere, seemingly unable to sleep. A problem the two snoring men on the other side of the room seemed to have no issue with.

 

“I don’t want you to get hurt.” He murmured quietly.

 

Courfeyrac’s hands froze for a moment before he put the rose on the bedside table and turned over to face Enjolras.

 

“Don’t worry, Enj. I’ll be ok.”

 

“There’s twenty other people vying for him. Those aren’t great odds.”

 

Courf snorted, amused. “Since when does Enjolras back down in the face of bad odds. I thought beating the odds is what you lived for.”

 

“Not if it breaks your heart.” Enjolras murmured.

 

Courfeyrac sighed, leaning across the bed to place a soft kiss to his forehead.

 

“Go to sleep, Enjolras. It’ll all be fine.”

 

Enjolras wanted to keep talking but he could feel the siren song of sleep in his bones. He rolled over and almost missed Courf’s whispered, “Anyway, your math is off, darling. I’ve got 21 to worry about.”

 

He barely managed to get out, “I’m not going to fight you for him,” before he succumbed to sleep and dreamed of stormy seas and strong arms wrapped around him.

 

\------

**Life & Style**

 

**Bachelor Premiere Recap**

 

Last night, the new redemption season of “The Bachelor” premiered with its first openly bisexual bachelor, allowing for a whole new dynamic between the guys and girls vying for the adorably awkward, yet charming Combeferre.

 

However, it wouldn’t be “The Bachelor” without a little bit of drama and a whole lot of bold moves. The boldest by far, I think we can agree, was attempted by Echo, a massage therapist from Kentucky. I’m sure I speak for most when I say we are all still a little confused at what poor Echo was going for with that duck costume, but he did leave a memorable impression which I’m sure will spawn a whole new plethora of memes.

 

Sometimes, though, bold moves do work, as evidenced by last night’s winner of the first impression rose, Courfeyrac. He’s a recent graduate from GWU with an MA in Social Work. He played the rescuer by cutting in when Kadie, the small, feisty, redhead from Illinois, got drunk and tried to stick her tongue down Combeferre’s throat.

 

There were clips of them heading off together towards what appeared to be an outdoor bar where they got cozy and flirty over a game of pool. I don’t know about you readers, but I saw some definite sparks last night.

 

We had our fair share of dramatic outbursts last night including the oldie “not here for the right reason” accusation, but things almost got physical when Kenny made a comment about Randi’s dress. I don’t know about any of you, but Randi doesn’t strike me as the girl to piss off. Hopefully Kenny will learn that quickly since it seems he’s sticking around another week.

 

Lastly, a recap wouldn’t be complete without a mention of the dynamic introduced this season that just promises to bring drama. Best friends Courfeyrac and Enjolras are competing on the show together for Combeferre’s heart, and Courfeyrac just pulled his first big win with that first impression rose. Time will tell how Enjolras will handle that and if our golden haired activist will be able to put his friendship above his search for love.

 

The Bachelor will air next Tuesday along with a new special after dark segment where the contestants kicked off that night will be available for interviews. Until then, sound off in the comments below with your thoughts on how this season will go! Are you excited by the new premise?


	2. Week 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras has a rough first week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG Guys. sorry this took so long. I've been having to work a lot of overtime and then I had to rewrite most of the chapter and... yea. Anyway, enjoy! :D

Grantaire stopped short to catch his breath outside of Valjean’s office. The morning production meeting was supposed to have started fifteen minutes ago, but the other man had been uncharacteristically absent. Javert’s glare had gotten fiercer with every minute that passed, refusing to start until everyone necessary was present.

 

With the atmosphere getting tenser by the second, Grantaire had quickly volunteered to check Valjean’s office. The door was cracked open and he could hear voices inside. He knocked sharply on the door, which fell open under the pressure to reveal Valjean sitting on the edge of his desk clasping the hands of a blonde girl Grantaire vaguely recognized from the night before. Cosette, he thinks her name was.

 

Their heads whipped around in surprise at the knock, Valjean quickly releasing his hold on the young woman’s hands.

 

“Grantaire.” Valjean cleared his throat, awkwardly. “A closed door is closed for a reason.”

 

Grantaire flicked his gaze between Valjean and Cosette who kept shooting nervous glances to Valjean, clearly unsure what she was supposed to do.

 

“Sir, the door was already open. I just came here to tell you everyone is waiting for you. Javert is getting pissed.”

 

Valjean frowned, rotating the watch on his wrist to check the time. When it registered they were now thirty minutes late, his face pinched.

 

“ _Shit_.”

 

“I’ll just wait outside.” Grantaire pointed awkwardly behind him, retreating out into the hallway, closing the door behind him. His mind was running through scenarios, the most likely of which being he’d walked in on some secret hook up.

 

A few moments later, Cosette emerged. She acknowledged Grantaire with a short nod and timid smile before rushing down the hall, blonde hair sweeping out behind her. Just behind her, Valjean was closing the door and adjusting his suit.

 

His eyes narrowed at the way Grantaire was refusing to hold his gaze.

 

“I’m not sleeping with her.” He said bluntly.

 

He threw his hands up, “It’s none of my business, sir.” It really wasn’t. They might not be allowed to sleep with the talent, but the same rules didn’t always apply to the Executive Producers.

Valjean frowned, “I’m not. For God’s sake, she’s practically a child, R.” The look of utter disgust on his face was quite convincing.

 

Grantaire chuckled, “She’s hardly a child, sir. But if you say nothing is going on, I believe you.” If only to keep his job.

 

“Good.” Valjean nodded, shoulders relaxing. He still seemed nervous, though. “All the same, maybe don’t mention this? Don’t need rumors getting around. It would only hurt the girl’s chances.”

 

“Cross my heart.” He drew an x over his heart and held up his hand. “Scout’s honor.” Grantaire was staying far away from whatever drama this was. He needed a clean record this year, not to be attached to a scandal.

 

Valjean rolled his eyes, huffing out a laugh. “If you were ever a scout, R, I’ll eat my socks.”

 

“Hope they’re made out of digestible fabric.” He quipped, turning to make his way back down the hall.

 

By the time they made it back to the meeting room and had taken their seats, they were forty minutes behind schedule and Javert looked as though he might burst a vein.

 

“I do not tolerate tardiness. Especially not from a man of your position, Mr. Valjean.”

 

The look he sent Valjean was withering. Eponine, who was in the seat beside him writing out notes on the laptop in front of her, tilted the screen to show him a rather crude comment about Javert’s lack of sex life.

 

He had to bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. The last thing he needed right then was to have that glare directed on him.

 

“Apologies.” Valjean said calmly, somehow unaffected by the glower he was under,

“Perhaps if we move quickly, we can make up for lost time. I’m sure we have more important things to discuss at the moment than our attendance policies.”

 

There was a sudden terseness in the room as the production assistants and producers all flinched and side eyed each other. Javert was a stickler for rules. He’d made it his mission to turn this season into a fine tuned machine that was above scrutiny, and he did not take kindly to that need for rules and regulation to be questioned.

 

“While you may be used to a lazy, loose-lipped crew Mr. Valjean,” Javert sneered, “I require the absolute best from all members of my crew. You would do well to remember that.”

 

Valjean raised an amused brow, refusing to be insulted. “If you would like to have a meeting on protocol, I’m sure that can be arranged. For now, might you redirect your attentions to the important matters at hand? Unless I’m mistaken, we still need to determine a storyline and direction for the season.”

 

Javert’s jaw clenched, eyes narrowing. The two had been butting heads since the day they got the call a new EP would be coming in to take hold of the reigns. Valjean didn’t enjoy being sidelined and Javert hated being questioned. They were both stubborn, passionate individuals who wanted to do the best job possible, yet couldn’t seem to agree on the way to do so.

 

“Grantaire.” Valjean called, his gaze not leaving Javert.

 

Grantaire straightened in his seat.

 

“Sir?”

 

“Would you be so good as to fill us in on the list of potential finalists you and Miss Thenardier have no doubt been working on? I’m sure it would ease Mr. Javert’s nerves to not have to sit around and debate over such things. Save us all some of that… _precious_  time.” His smile was sharp and Javert bristled, his jaw clenching so tight Grantaire worried for his teeth.

 

“Of course,” Grantaire eyed Eponine who shoved her notes over to him. He glanced quickly over the messy handwriting where she had detailed pros and cons of all the remaining candidates from the night before.

 

Grantaire took a deep breath, stood from his seat and moved around the table to where a white board sat beside a wall of cast photos. He grabbed a marker and started making notes and diagrams.

 

“The show is only as good as its drama, right?” He returned the marker to its spot and turned to address the room. “Nobody has watched this show expecting happily ever after for years. They care about the drama, and if the couple happens to last,” Grantaire shrugged dismissively, “all the better.”

 

Truthfully, Grantaire liked Combeferre. The other man was one of the few bachelors actually serious about falling in love. Grantaire wanted to see this work out for him, and if he eyed the list of suitors just a little more carefully than he had in previous years, than he was just trying to do the best job possible.

 

“Now, in the past we’ve used all sorts of scandals and seedy hookups to sell the story, but after last year and your timely arrival sir,” He nodded to Javert, “we will need to scrap those and be a touch more creative.”

 

“Oh?” Javert seemed skeptical, while Valjean cocked his head curiously.

 

He straightened, suppressing the urge to flinch under the weight of the intense stares now directed towards him.

 

“Well, first off. Since we’re airing the episodes as things happen rather than weeks later, we can’t spin a story based on what we know has happened. Just what might happen. Which is why we figured we could do a love triangle.”

 

Some of the other producers rolled their eyes, sniggering.

 

Valjean frowned, “R, the whole show is about multiple contestants competing for the same guy.”

 

His cheeks flushed. “That may be so, but I’m not referring to a dozen random contestants – just two.” 

 

“Do explain yourself.” Javert said tightly.

 

He gestured to his notes where he’d drawn a triangle with lines pointing to Enjolras’ and Courfeyrac’s photos.

 

“Fans love a good love triangle. To make it better, they’re best friends and

Combeferre showed an obvious interest in them both last night. We edit the footage to feature them in addition to the general chaos we had last night and we’ve got a hook.”

 

“We can’t just frame everything around the two of them.” Javert leaned back in his chair, brow furrowed, his fingers tapping the table absently. “There has to be an appearance that other contestants have a chance. There are twenty other individuals out there eager for time with Combeferre.”

 

“Of course! I’m not saying make them the final two, just feature them a bit more earlier on to sell the narrative. Meanwhile, we make sure he picks other contestants for the one on one dates and to give roses to throughout the episode. Create a few potential wild cards.” He circled the names of some of the better candidates who Combeferre seemed to like. “But at the center of the early story is this dynamic between Combeferre, Enjolras and Courfeyrac.”

 

“Circle Montparnasse too.” Eponine chimed in, eyeing the board. She looked like she was plotting something, the way her gaze flickered from photo to photo.

 

Grantaire frowned, “Why?”

 

She smirked, “Every good love story needs an old fashioned villain.”

 

He did a look over the wall of photos till he found the photo of the man she suggested. He was a pretty, thin-faced man, with angled cheekbones and an aggressive glint to his eye. His long black hair was pulled back into a low bun. Under the picture was a short blurb about his background.

 

His brow raised in surprise. Well then, Grantaire mused, still slightly disbelieving that the man had been approved for filming. Looks like they’ve got a villain. He circled the name and added his information to the diagrams and notes quickly covering every empty space of the board.

 

He turned back to Javert who reviewed the notes silently before nodding in acceptance.

 

“It needs work, Grantaire, but it is a possibility.”

 

Grantaire nearly sighed his relief as the room burst into discussions and strategizing. He met Eponine’s gaze and grinned. They’d at least gotten Javert’s attention. Now they just had to not fuck it up and maybe they’d have their own show at the end of this.

 

\-----

 

The sun was high in the sky by the time Enjolras finally made it to the kitchen where he caught eyes with Courfeyrac, who was lounging in a window seat, a muffin outstretched for Enjolras to take. He was dressed casually, his dark hair artfully messy and falling into his eyes.

 

Darting around the crowd of other contestants, he gratefully took the muffin from Courfeyrac and plopped heavily on the window seat. He bit into it, his mouth watering at the sharp tang of blueberry. He ate quickly, his hunger distracting him from the looks his friend was giving him as he took in Enjolras’ appearance.

 

“Where the hell have you been? And why do you look like that?”

 

Enjolras resisted the urge to rub a hand over his face, which he knew was covered in unfamiliar creams and powders.

 

Groaning inwardly, his head fell back on to the glass behind him, as the events of the morning flashed before him. Everything had started so well. He’d even managed to grab an early shower before the hoard of other houseguests descended, demanding use of all available showers and mirrors. He’d been briefly reminded of freshman year of undergrad when he still lived in dorms that had communal showers. At least here he could lock the door.

 

“I got accosted.” He said simply.

 

When Courfeyrac just gave him a look, as though that wasn’t a sufficient explanation, Enjolras reluctantly recounted the whole affair.

 

He’d been wandering down the hall to breakfast, hair and skin still damp from his shower when he nearly ran into a short kid wearing a headset and running full speed down the hallway.

 

The kid hadn’t even responded when he asked if he was ok, simply gave a two-finger salute and kept running down the hall despite shouts of his name, “Gavroche” from Eponine who was marching towards them. She’d looked like a woman on a mission, her hair pulled tight and expression fuming. When she couldn’t catch up to the kid, who was now long out of sight, she’d turned her focus to Enjolras, and didn’t seem to care for his damp hair and baggy sweater.

 

“She took one look at me before dragging me to see a makeup artist.”

 

(“If you think you’re going on camera looking like that, you’re insane.” She gestured to his wet hair. “This is the Bachelor, not Man in the Wild.”

 

“The hell is that supposed to mean?” Enjolras spluttered, affronted.

 

“It means,” Eponine said slowly, as if she were talking to a child, “That I’m taking you to Musichetta.”)

 

Musichetta was a sweet, dark skinned girl in charge of the show’s hair and makeup who’d seemed genuinely apologetic about Eponine’s forcefulness.

 

Courfeyrac looked like he was trying not to laugh. “You didn’t say no?”

 

“She didn’t give me much of a choice.” Enjolras frowned.

 

“Really,” Courfeyrac smirked, “the mighty Enjolras couldn’t tell a girl no? Didn’t realize the feminine wiles worked on you.”

 

Enjolras ignored the jab, “She’s got a surprisingly strong grip.” He muttered, taking another bite of his muffin.

 

“Well,” Courfeyrac ran his gaze up and down Enjolras’ face. “I gotta say, she really went all out.”

 

He wiped the crumbs of his lips, face falling. “Is it that bad?”

 

Enjolras hadn’t bothered to check his reflection in his haste to get out of the dining room and the array of powders.

 

“On the contrary, if I wasn’t already used to people gawking at you, I’d be a bit self-conscious.”

 

He rubbed at his cheek. The last thing he needed was more people gawking at him when he was trying to lay low. Enjolras wasn’t stupid. He knew people found him attractive, but he’d never gone out of his way to encourage people to stare.

 

“Oh stop it, Enj.” Courfeyrac pulled Enjolras hands away from his face, “You’re just going to end up all smudgy.”

 

Enjolras reluctantly sat still as Courfeyrac leaned in and tried to fix the spot he had smudged. After a few long moments, he leaned back with a satisfied look.

 

“There.” He quipped. “Now you’re once more the fairest of them all.”

 

“Fantastic.” He muttered dryly.

 

Frustrated, he twisted onto his back dropping his head into Courfeyrac’s lap. His friend took the cue for what it was and absently ran careful fingers through his blonde curls. His eyes drooped closed as he felt himself relax.

 

On nights his brain was moving too fast to allow him to sleep, or he was anxious before a big speech, Courfeyrac would pull his head into his lap, running short nails through his hair. Without fail, he would be calm and relaxed within minutes.

 

(“Who needs a cat, when I’ve got you Enj.” Courf would often joke.)

 

“You know I’m just here for you, right?” He murmured, trying to keep his voice low so other contestants couldn’t overhear them.

 

The fingers in his hair stilled.

 

“Christ Enj. If this is about Combeferre.”

 

Enjolras frowned, his eyes fluttering open to take in the annoyed twist of his friend’s mouth.

 

“But – “

 

“No.” Courfeyrac cut him off firmly. “I’m not going to dictate who you fall for. You deserve something else to come home to besides your work.”

 

Enjolras scowled, “You’re the one who has feelings for him. I’m just trying to let you know I have no intention to steal him from you.”

 

“Oh stop it.” Long fingers pulled sharply on his curls.  “Are you not the one always going on about how people aren’t property? Besides, there are twenty other people here. Who’s to say Combeferre even keeps us around after this week? All I’m asking is that you try to enjoy this experience and, if you do develop feelings for him, do me the decency of telling me. Ok?”

 

Enjolras sighed, nodding reluctantly. It wasn’t likely to happen, but he would agree if it eased his friend’s mind.

 

“Good.” Courfeyrac nodded, resuming his gentle stokes along Enjolras’ scalp.

 

They sat like that for several long, quiet, minutes until a flurry of chaos erupted around them.

 

They barely had time to stand, before a swarm of assistants were herding them to the living room for filming. One quickly pulled Enjolras aside, pressing a red bunch of fabric into his hands and informing him that Eponine wanted him to wear it.

 

Enjolras had a half a mind to refuse, but he figured a request from Eponine probably wasn’t a suggestion. Reluctantly, he ducked into an alcove and pulled off his baggy sweater and traded it out for the long sleeved red Henley that was, to Enjolras’ annoyance, quite a bit more fitted than his preferred loose shirts. He got the impression it belonged to a smaller man.

 

Courfeyrac gave him a teasing wolf whistle as he re-emerged, drawing attention from the other contestants, some of who’s gaze seemed to last a little longer than strictly necessary.

 

He barely had a moment to feel self – conscious before he and Courfeyrac were forced onto a couch in direct line of the camera as the remaining contestants were arranged in rows on and behind the remaining couches like it was school picture day.

 

The director called for everyone to get quiet, and Enjolras returned his focus to the crowd of people in front of him. A handful of smartly dressed individuals were seated with the director, keeping an eye on what must be the footage coming from the cameraman.

 

“Ok, we ready to roll?” A man Enjolras didn’t recognize stepped forward, addressing the group of contestants. He had a kind face, dark hair edged with white at the temples and a trimmed beard. His dark suit skimmed over a tall, broad figure.

 

“My name is Valjean. I am one of the Executive Producers on this show. It is unlikely we will see much of each other, but allow me to take this moment to congratulate all of you on making it this far. I’m sure we are in for an interesting season.” He smiled congenially.

 

“Now, I’m sure you are all anxious to begin.” He held up a large white envelope. “Here in my hand I have the envelope for the first round of dates. Any volunteers on who would like to read it?”

 

A dozen hands shot up, all waving eagerly to try and get his attention. Valjean scanned each of them before pointing towards Cosette.

 

“You, my dear. Cosette was it? How would you like to do the honors?”

 

Cosette beamed and moved from her spot behind the side couch to get the envelope. She was wearing another high-necked pink dress, this one thigh length and flowing, with cowboy boots. Her blonde tresses were pulled back into a loose bun.

 

“Now,” Valjean returned his focus to their group. ”After Cosette does the reveal on the first date, one of our lovely producers, Eponine will assign groups of you to meet with one of five producers who will be your go to for any questions or concerns for the duration of your stay on the show. After that, we will work on some individual interviews. Any questions?”

 

A quiet murmur ran through the group as they side eyed each other, but no one piped up with any immediate questions.

 

“Splendid.” Valjean grinned and left the room, not even staying for the filming.

 

With all the attention suddenly on her, Cosette squirmed under the stares, her smile turning strained. Enjolras caught her eye and mouthed, “you’ve got this.” Her shoulders relaxed a touch and she stood ready for the director to call action.

 

“Ok guys! You ready?” She exclaimed once the cameras started rolling.

 

“Now, for what we’ve all been waiting for.” She grinned conspiratorially. “Let’s talk about the dates.” Excited whispering ran through the group, some girls giggling to their neighbours. Even Courfeyrac perked up at his side, attentive. Enjolras snorted in fond exasperation at his friend who simply elbowed him playfully.

 

“Ok then,” She opened the envelope and removed the slip of paper and read off the names for the first date.

 

“Jubilee, Ben, Floreal, Montparnasse, Jade, Marius, Lacey, Fueilly, Courfeyrac, and oh,” She laughed in surprise, “and me.”

 

Excited murmuring filled the room from those who’d been selected while those who hadn’t been called sulked and muttered furiously.

 

“Does it say what the date will be?” An olive skinned girl with dark hair sitting on the couch beside him asked.

 

Cosette looked down at the card, “It just says, “Let your talents shine.””

 

“It must be a talent show!” Someone said.

 

“I’ve got a few talents he might like.” A confident, silky voice sounded from behind him. Enjolras looked over his shoulder to see who’d spoken and saw a thin-faced man with long dark hair swept over the side of his shoulder. He had handsome features and a mischievous glint to his eye.

 

Beside the man, Jehan rolled their eyes, “Yes, I’m sure you do, Montparnasse.”

 

The man, Montparnasse just grinned at Jehan unapologetically.

 

The crowd around him whispered excitedly and all Enjolras could feel was relief that he didn’t have to do the possible talent show. He wasn’t much good at anything that didn’t involve debating and converting the minds of the people to his causes and, while Combeferre probably wouldn’t mind, he didn’t think producers would take kindly to him using their show to spark a social movement.

 

The director called for cut and a deafening, frenzy of conversation erupted. Many cooing about Combeferre and planning out what they were going to perform and bragging about their various skills.

 

Enjolras side eyed Courfeyrac, warily. “If this does turn out to be a talent show… exactly what are you planning to do for your talent?” Courfeyrac could be suave and charming, but he wasn’t particularly skilled in music or dance or whatever common talents sprang to mind.

 

Courf scrunched his face in thought, before his eyes lit up in mischief. “Do you think a strip tease is too much?”

 

Enjolras blinked, unsure if his friend was serious. “Um… I mean, probably?”

 

Courfeyrac sighed dramatically, “You’re no fun, Enj. It’s not like it has to be something super sexual. It could be a fun strip tease.”

 

He had a retort ready on his lips when Eponine suddenly appeared and called for their attention.

 

She waited till the group had calmed down before addressing the room.

 

“Ok, great. Now that we’ve got that out of the way,” She waved her clipboard, “I have lists here of names of people and which producer they’ll be assigned to. When I call out your group please head to meet them immediately so we can work on your interviews. The first date will be at 7pm this evening. For those of you going don’t be late or you will be left behind.”

 

She stared at the group almost daring them to question her. When no one said anything she nodded in approval.

 

“Fantastic. Now, group one. When I read your names head to the study down the hall where you will meet with Grantaire.

 

“Floreal, Jubilee, Enjolras and Ken doll.” She pointed at the four of them. “Please head out.”

 

“You’ve got to stop calling me that. “ The tall blonde snapped. “My name is Kenny.”

 

“Do I look like I care?” Eponine muttered, gesturing again for them to leave.

 

He heard Courfeyrac wish him luck as he followed the other three down the hall to the study. Kenny spent the whole walk complaining about Eponine and nearly ran over a petite red haired girl waiting outside the door to the study.

 

Enjolras reached out a hand instinctively to steady her. “You ok?”

 

The girl waved him off; glaring at Kenny who seemed unconcerned that he’d nearly flattened her.

 

“Fine.”

 

“Are you Grantaire?” One of the girls asked. He wasn’t sure which was which.

 

The red haired girl snorted, “No. I’m just a PA. Name’s Emily. He’s inside and asked me to line you up one by one so he could talk to you individually. Any volunteers to go first?”

 

She seemed unsurprised when Kenny steamrolled her to go first and disappeared into the study before she could say anything further. 

 

“Charming,” She drawled, “Anyone else itching to go next?”

 

Not in any hurry, Enjolras quickly offered to go last, leaving the two girls to hash out their order.

 

“Great. I’ll let him know.” The girl gestured at the row of chairs behind them.

 

“Please take a seat and make yourselves comfortable. This might be awhile.” She darted her head inside, reading off the order before giving them an absent nod and disappearing down the hall, talking into her headset.

 

Enjolras collapsed into a chair, letting his eyes droop closed.

 

“What do you think they want us to talk about?” One girl asked, eagerly. He should really learn their names.

 

“Does it matter?” He muttered, stubbornly ignoring the excited chatter and sinking into the cushioned chair and letting his mind wander. If he was going to be here for a while he could at least do some future planning, and allowed his thoughts to run through the proposals and permits he had left half-finished at home and the emails he was sure were piling up.

 

He’d just finished mentally drafting a letter to send to Senator Hendricks, when he felt someone nudging his shoulder.

 

“Oh good,” his eyes fluttered open to take in one of the girls, the dark haired one, frowning. “I thought you’d passed out.”

 

Enjolras scanned the hallway, realizing that Kenny and the other girl had long since left. How distracted had he been?

 

“My turn?”

 

“Yup.” She held out a hand to pull him to his feet. “Come on, blondie.” He swayed a little as his head rushed at the sudden motion.

 

He’d barely gotten his wits about him when she pushed him through the open door so roughly he nearly tripped.

 

“Well aren’t you graceful.” A low, rough voice chuckled.

 

Enjolras frowned, shutting the door behind him, as he took in the man sitting in one of the tall backed chairs with his feet propped on the coffee table. It was the PA he’d run into the night before. By the look of him, he hadn’t bothered to change since the previous evening. His clothes were rumpled like he’d slept in them and his dark hair was still hidden under a red beanie.

 

Beside him, a camera was propped up on a tripod, no doubt to do whatever interviews Eponine & Valjean had mentioned.

 

“You’re Grantaire?” Enjolras was confused. ” _You_?”

 

“Yeeess?” The man said slowly, face scrunched up in confusion. “Should I not be?”

 

Enjolras stepped further into the room, face flushing in embarrassment. “Sorry. I just… assumed when we met last night that you were a PA, not a producer.”

 

“I’m not sure if I should be offended by that or not.” Grantaire arched a brow. “I mean… do I just not look competent enough to be a producer?”

 

“What? No. That’s not what I – “

 

“Is it the stubble? The devil may car attitude.” The dark haired man interrupted, mockingly, lips twisted in smirk.

 

Enjolras bristled, growing increasingly frustrated as Grantaire kept interrupting his attempts to explain, coming up with more and more creatively absurd reasons why he could possibly be mistaken for a PA.

 

“God, will you shut up!?” Enjolras shouted, fed up.

 

Grantaire just grinned, stormy blue eyes glinting. “Such righteous anger, Apollo.”

 

His nerves burned. Why was this man so annoying?

 

“Are you always like this?” He demanded.

 

“Only every day that ends in y.”

 

Enjolras bit down on the inside of his cheek to stop himself from responding. He took a deep breath, trying to ground himself, and remembering that he was supposed to work with this guy while he was here.

 

He felt Grantaire’s heavy gaze watching him as he took a seat opposite him.

 

“Look, can we start over.” He stuck out a hand in between them. “My name is Enjolras.”

 

Grantaire eyed his outstretched hand curiously, before clasping it in his own and giving it a light shake. His hand was calloused and warm. It was bigger than Enjolras’ own, the dark tan skin a stark contrast to his own milky white.

 

Their eyes met, stormy seas connecting with icy blue that sent a shock down his spine.

 

“Grantaire,” the other man murmured, still clasping his hand gently. “Nice to meet you.”

 

Enjolras tried not to fidget beneath the weight of the man’s softening gaze. Clearing his throat, he dropped the other man’s hand and gestured towards the cameras.

 

“Should we get started, then?”

 

He followed Enjolras’ eye, expression surprised, like he’d almost forgotten the camera was there. His feet dropped heavily to the floor as he twisted to adjust the camera. The red light flared to life, indicating it had started rolling.

 

“OK.” Grantaire straightened, rubbing his hands on his thighs, smoothing the creases in his trousers.

 

“Now, this is just an introductory interview. I’ll just be asking you some basic questions and when we’re done we can talk about your plans for the show. Now, I am required to tell you, anything that gets said during these interviews is allowed to be used when the show airs. Understood?”

 

Enjolras had barely nodded his understanding before Grantaire pressed on, asking simple, generic questions.

 

How did he like the other contestants? What does he look for in a match? Was he excited to spend more time with Combeferre?

 

Enjolras stumbled over his answers. He’d never given much thought to what he looked for in a guy. Relationships had never been his forte, preferring the quick release of pent up needs before throwing himself back into his work, but he couldn’t exactly say the only thing he looked for was discretion, experience, and a condom.

 

At least in regards to Combeferre he could be honest. He was interested in spending more time with the other man. He was brilliant and it would be good to engage with someone with such similar passions.

 

After a seemingly endless series of questions, Enjolras breathed a sigh of relief when Grantaire said, “Great, just one more question.”

 

He cocked his head, giving Enjolras a considering look. “How is it two best friends decide to come on to a show to compete for the same guy? You aren’t worried about it hurting your friendship?”

 

Enjolras frowned, confused. “Why would it?”

 

The other man scoffed, like he couldn’t believe Enjolras was serious. “I’ve seen strangers rip each other apart on this show like this is “Lord of the Flies” and the bachelor is the conch shell.”

“That’s an incredibly inaccurate comparison.” Enjolras couldn’t help interrupting.

 

Grantaire shrugged, waving off the critique. “My point, Apollo, is people are rarely friends by the end of this show. Seems an awful big gamble to place on a friendship that seems to mean quite a lot to you.”

 

Flashes of the night before, Courfeyrac’s insistence that he would have to compete with Enjolras and his own that he wouldn’t stand in Courfeyrac’s way ran through his mind. It was a fair question, but one Enjolras was tired of considering.

 

“You seem to be under the impression that I value the potential of a short lived infatuation over a man I’ve known since I was in diapers. Courfeyrac asked me to come, so I came. I’m here for him.” Too late, Enjolras realized he probably shouldn’t have phrased it quite like that. Would they just send him home if they knew Enjolras didn’t have any intention of getting engaged to Combeferre? That he wasn’t like the twenty-one other eager contestants remaining.

 

Two days ago, Enjolras wouldn’t have minded, but he’d promised Courfeyrac to be open about this whole experience. It felt like a lie if he just allowed himself to be sent home.

 

“So you don’t want to be here? Are you too good for the show?”

 

Enjolras scowled. “That’s not what I – “

 

But wasn’t it? Had he not thought something similar everyday leading up to this? Made judgments about the other contestants’ excitement and the whole philosophy behind the show. He shifted uncomfortably in seat, trying not to bolt from the room and this whole experience

 

“Because, for someone that claims they don’t want to do this, you’re sure making an effort to be the prettiest one here.” He waved a hand that seemed to encompass Enjolras from head to foot, his lips twisting into a sharp grin, eyes hard.

 

“You’re one to talk.” Enjolras snapped defensively, cheeks flushed, and not bothering to explain about Eponine or concede that Grantaire had a point. He gestured instead at Grantaire’s rumpled state and the prominent dark circles under his stormy blue eyes. “It looks like you didn’t even bother to shower.” It felt like an unnecessarily fourth grade comeback that made even Enjolras cringe.

 

Grantaire’s eyes flashed and he opened his mouth to speak before hesitating, shooting a sidelong look at the camera. After a moment of tense quiet, he reached out a hand to turn the camera off.

 

“Not that it’s any of your business,” the words were terse, expression shuttered. Enjolras hadn’t realized how lively and bright he’d been until it was suddenly gone. “But no. I didn’t. I’ve been a little busy doing my job to keep this show you detest running, not being pampered like a princeling and enjoying the high life.”

 

That word. Princeling. It sent a shock through his system as it spurred up memories of fine parties, treachery and greed.

 

“Don’t.” He gritted out, “Call me that.” His hands clenched in the fabric of his worn jeans.

 

Grantaire smiled, but it wasn’t kind. “What? Does the truth hurt? Would some of daddy’s money make you feel better?”

 

Enjolras bolted to his feet, “Who the hell do you think you are?” He growled, unsure if he was grateful or annoyed at the table between them, preventing him from throwing a punch that would probably hurt him more than Grantaire.

 

The other man just sat, unaffected by Enjolras’ sudden burst of rage.

 

When no response came, Enjolras deflated a bit, biting out the words. “We done?” He needed to get out of here and calm down before he made things worse. Already, a knot of guilt was twisting in his stomach along side the flash of anger at bitter memories.

 

“Yea,” Grantaire leaned heavily back into his chair, propping his feet back up on the table. “We’re done.”

 

His eyes shuttered closed and Enjolras gladly took it for the dismissal he wanted.

 

\-----

 

Grantaire tilted his head back, enjoying the feel of the hot spray of the shower cascading over his body. It was a precious moment of isolation in an otherwise packed household. There was no one demanding his attention or aggravating blondes to test him. He knew someone, somewhere would be searching for him soon, but for now this moment of quiet was his and he relished the respite.

 

He poured a handful of the fragrant shampoo he’d swiped from one of the other bathrooms into his hand, gently massaging it into his dark hair. It was a scent he couldn’t quite pinpoint but it was soothing. His eyes drooped closed, his mind going refreshingly blank as he lost himself in the steady thrum of water against his skin and comforting aromas.

 

It had been too many hours since he’d slept, and his nerves were frayed and temper short. He winced at how callous he’d been with Enjolras. That hadn’t been fair. He knew, from the background research, the blonde man had a tense relationship with his family and even more complicated one with money. He’d have to apologize.

 

When the water began to cool on his skin, and his fingers began to prune, Grantaire reluctantly turned off the water. He stepped carefully out of the shower onto slick tile, grabbing at a thick white towel hanging on the wall, before quickly drying off. Wrapping it around his waist, he grabbed for his dirty clothes on the counter, stopping short when caught his reflection in the steam obscured mirror.

 

Enjolras was right, Grantaire mused, wiping at the steamed glass to get a clearer look at his face. He looked awful.

 

His stubble was quickly turning into an unkept beard and the shadows under his eyes were almost purple. He’d only managed to grab a handful of hours of sleep the last few days since shooting started. If he didn’t get a descent night soon, he’d probably end up drowning in his coffee.

 

With a sigh, he clutched the rumpled clothing to his chest and opened the door leading into the spare bedroom.

 

The sight of Eponine on the bed working on her laptop should have made him jump in surprise, but in his exhaustion he could only manage a series of slow blinks. He was fairly sure he hadn’t fallen into a waking dream.

 

“There’s some fresh clothes on the dresser and a sandwich.” She said absently, not lifting her gaze from the computer on her lap.

 

Right then. At least he wouldn’t have to keep wearing the same clothes he’d been wearing the last two days. He sorted through the small pile of clothes, unsurprised to realize they were his. Eponine must have broken into his house again. It was her way of showing concern.

 

He dropped the towel, unencumbered by Eponine at his back. To put it in her words, Grantaire had “nothing she was interested in seeing.”

 

Grantaire dressed quickly, the briefs and dark wash jeans sitting comfortably low on his narrow hips, the soft cotton of his favourite green t-shirt gentle on his skin. He grabbed the sandwich, devouring it as he strode to the bed, collapsing gracelessly on the side opposite Eponine.

 

“You know,” Eponine chided. “You do have your own house. You don’t have to sneak around the mansion to use a spare bathroom.”

 

Grantaire ignored her, this was an old argument and he wasn’t in the mood right now to start it up again.

 

“Anything I should know about how the first group date went?” He said instead, taking another mouthful of the sandwich Eponine had brought him.

 

Eponine shrugged. “A lot of the usual. A couple of the girls kept talking crap all night about everyone else. I figure it’s because they did embarrassingly bad in the challenge.”

 

She turned the laptop to Grantaire, where she’d pulled up some of the raw footage from the night before. It was paused, not on any gabby girls, but what looked to be Courfeyrac and Combeferre at Santa Monica Pier where the group date was supposed to have dinner after their challenge.

 

“Thought you might like to see this, given the argument you made the other day for featuring Courfeyrac. It took some convincing, the guy was surprisingly hesitant, but I managed to convince Courfeyrac to make a bold play.”

 

She pressed play and Grantaire listened as the two talked. There was some awkward tension, but Grantaire thought he could see a steady thrum of chemistry between them as the two kept sneaking looks when they thought the other wasn’t looking.

 

The producer in him was figuring out the best ways to edit the conversation and suggestions to give the film editors on what to feature and what could be left out. The guy who wanted good things for Combeferre felt a thrum of pleasure. Courfeyrac was vibrant and loud. Grantaire wouldn’t have thought he would be Ferre’s type, but he was also gentle and attentive. It could work.

 

On camera, Grantaire saw when Courfeyrac was pulled away, presumably by Eponine, only to return a few minutes later with a determined set to his shoulders. Through the speakers, Courfeyrac’s voice seemed to have dropped half an octave, as he curled into Combeferre’s side. Combeferre seemed a touch surprised, but by the way he tightened his grip around the other man’s shoulders, he didn’t seem to mind.

 

“You know,” he heard Courfeyrac say. “Everyone kind of assumed it would be a talent show.”

 

“Oh really?” Combeferre laughed, “What would you have done if it had been? Any secret talents I should know about?”

 

Courfeyrac shrugged, pushing in closer, his head tilting to whisper into Combeferre’s ear. If it weren’t for the mic on Courfeyrac, they wouldn’t have managed to pick up his next words.

 

“I’ve got a couple things I’m pretty good at. If you’re interested.” His lips skimmed Combeferre’s cheek as he spoke.

 

On camera Combeferre flushed but didn’t push Courfeyrac away. Instead he dropped his arm from Courfeyrac’s shoulder to skim his hands up and down the other man’s side, tilting his head back to look Courfeyrac in the eye.

 

“I could be obliged.” He murmured, gaze falling to Courfeyrac’s lips like they were living out a scene from a cheesy rom-com.

 

Even with the ability to play back the footage, it would be hard to tell who moved first.

 

Their lips met in a soft, exploratory kiss. Combeferre’s hands reached behind to cup Courfeyrac’s neck and draw him in tighter, deepening the kiss.

 

Grantaire paused, feeling a bit like a voyeur, his lips quirked in a smile. Could be good together indeed.

 

“Any other drama?” He swallowed the last bit of his sandwich, shifting the laptop back to Eponine.

 

Eponine lifted a hand counting off the events from the night before. “The gabby girls, Montparnasse started some drama just like we wanted, people got pissed when Combeferre only kissed Courfeyrac and Floreal – “

 

“Floreal?” Grantaire blinked in surprise. The dark haired girl had been one of his and seemed nice enough, but he hadn’t figured her and Combeferre to really get along that well.

 

“I was surprised too,” Eponine shrugged, “Combeferre actually gave her the rose. She’s actually deceptively conniving and knows how to play the game. I couldn’t tell you if she’s actually trying to end up with him or if she’s angling for something else, but… she’s charming when she needs to be.”

 

“Which reminds me,” Eponine’s expression morphed into one of annoyance. “Could somebody, for the love of God remind Marius he’s supposed to be dating Combeferre? It’s going to be hell trying to film a convincing love story between them if he won’t stop making cow eyes at Cosette.”

 

His shoulders shook as he tried not to laugh.

 

“I’ll trade you. I’ll take Marius off your hands if you take Enjolras.”

 

Eponine snorted, lifting an artfully plucked brow. “I figured you’d be pleased to have something pretty to look at.”

 

Grantaire gave her a flat look.

 

“You’re the one who brought up the love triangle. I figured it was your way of saying you wanted to keep him around so you could stare at his ass.” She blinked demurely, like she wasn’t the devil’s spawn.

 

“Is that why assigned him to me after trussing him up in all that make up?” Grantaire groaned. “Like he didn’t already look enough like a God. Hell, you gave him one of my old shirts to wear. Do you just enjoy fucking with me?”

 

“I’m sure it’s not me you’re wanting to fuck with, R.” She grinned wolfishly. “Besides I thought you said you weren’t going to sleep with the contestants.”

 

“I’m not.”

 

“So what’s the problem?” She dropped her laptop on the nightstand, shifting her legs under her so she could sit more comfortably.

 

“Apart from his charming personality?” He drawled, stretching out and burying his face in the large, fluffy pillows. He thought back to argument they’d had. Grantaire could admit he was being a bit of a dick, but Enjolras’ indifference to him, to the show, had been grating.

 

Eponine gave a put upon sigh, “On a scale of 1 – 10, exactly how much of a total asshole were you?”

 

She knew him so well.

 

“15,” he muttered sheepishly.

 

He could practically envision Eponine rolling her eyes. “My God, R. Can you not act like a first grader pulling on the braids of their first crush?”

 

He shrugged, exhaustion catching up with him as he adjusted his position on the firm mattress. These sheets were so silky, and it had been so long since he’d slept. Maybe Eponine would let him steal just twenty minutes before they had to go back to work.

 

“Fuck, I’m tired.”

 

“You know evasion doesn’t work on me.” She shoved him on his side, forcing him to look at her. Grantaire must have seemed truly pathetic though, because her gaze softened.

 

“Oh R,” Eponine murmured gently, brushing his hair out of his face.

 

“Just twenty minutes, Eponine. I swear. Then we can go back to arguing over who gets to keep Apollo.”

 

She didn’t fight him, so Grantaire took that as approval to bury his face back into the pillow, letting his mind wander till he slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep.

 

When he awoke, the light from the sun was dimmer than he remembered. He shot up, searching blearily for Eponine, but she was nowhere to be seen. On the nightstand beside him, though, was a razor, a travel sized container of shaving cream and his phone; which indicated it was evening and, amongst a few dozen missed calls and texts, he had one singular new message from Eponine.

 

He swiped his phone to unlock it and felt his lips twitch fondly at the message.

 

‘You’re a grown up, R. Act like one.’

 

\-----

 

“Is this totally necessary?” Enjolras grumbled as Cosette fussed with his hair. She’d tried to convince him to let her apply eyeliner, but Enjolras had had enough of makeup for a while.

 

“Just let her do it,” Fueilly chimed in from where he and Bahorel were lounging on the bed, the latter nursing a mild sprain from his one on one date the day before. He and Combeferre had gone rock climbing and it had been going great until Combeferre lost his balance, forcing Bahorel to make a frantic grab for him.

 

The show’s medic, Joly, had assured them it was nothing serious but was insistent that Bahorel ice it regularly to control the swelling.

 

Enjolras sighed, shifting awkwardly in his borrowed clothes, as he allowed Cosette to twist his hair. They had all nixed his bag of loose fitting shirts and sweaters, the only nice shirt he’d brought being the one he’d worn on the first night.

 

He had tried to protest that his clothes were fine, and he couldn’t just keep borrowing random people’s clothing, but Courfeyrac had just thrown a shirt in his face and told him to change. It was a tight, light blue V-neck that drew attention to his sharp collarbones. He did spare a moment of gratitude that they let him keep his favourite black jeans and red jacket. Still, he wasn’t used to the way the cotton stretched across his chest with each minute movement.

 

“Is he almost done?” Bossuet poked his head in the open doorway. “The limos just pulled up outside.”

 

Cosette stepped back to survey her handiwork. “Wonderful,” She beamed. “You’re all set.”

 

Enjolras thanked her quickly, following Bossuet out the door and studiously ignoring the teasing calls behind him from Courfeyrac.

 

He’d been in an alarmingly good mood since returning from his own date night. Enjolras loved his friend dearly, and was glad he was happy, but if he had to hear one more goddamn time how firm Combeferre’s hands had felt on his waist he might scream.

 

They arrived outside just as the others were being piled into one of two limos. He and Bossuet claimed the one they saw Jehan and Randi slip into, not wanting to share with Kenny and his friends.

 

The drive was quick, conversation easy as they picked up their on-going game of who would win what scenario. The situations were always far more ridiculous than the one before.

 

Jehan had just been making a point about the effectiveness of UV rays on shadow creatures, when they pulled up to a curb. Stepping out into the blazing sun, he saw that they were in some sort of circular shopping centre, all sorts of shops around them with friends and families running about.

 

Waiting for them was a singular cameraman, a smiling Combeferre dressed in khakis and a ridiculously patterned button down, and Fantine, who was wearing a simple, knee length black dress, red strappy sandals and matching headband in her dark, pixie cut hair.

 

“Welcome,” She came forward, smiling warmly. “I hope you brought your A game because tonight we’ve got a fun challenge. Everyone knows the saying that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.” She gestured behind her to where he could make out a glass storefront beyond a couple fountains and animal shaped topiaries.

 

“Today you will be taking part in a private cooking class at the Gourmandise School where you will have the chance to make Combeferre’s favourite dessert. Be sure to do your best, though, as the winner will get a chance to have some one on one time at the beach before your cocktail party this evening.”

 

She waited for the customary excited murmurs before directing the lot of them across the grounds and through the tall glass doors to a large, crowded kitchen. There were substantially fewer PA’s and producers crowding about as there were at the date reveal the other day, his eyes easily tracking a familiar shock of dark hair and broad shoulders. He’d barely had a moment though to acknowledge his presence, and consider apologizing for the other day, before Grantaire disappeared out the way they had just come in.

 

He redirected his attention to the front of the room, where an older man wearing a chef’s uniform and black apron addressed them. He directed them to take their own apron and grab an available station where various ingredients and utensils were already pre organized, including a few cans of condensed milk that were oddly warm to the touch.

 

Combeferre stepped forward to address them, “I’m so glad you could all come. Today Chef Miles has been kind enough to teach all of you how to make one of my favourite desserts, ‘Torta Milhojas’.” He motioned to a plate beside him where a completed, unfamiliar dessert sat. “It is similar to a cake, and my mother would make it for my birthday each year as a child. It is also one of the first things I learned to cook myself. I wish you luck.”

 

He took his spot in the corner to observe, and gestured for the Chef to take over.

 

All things considered, Enjolras didn’t think this particular challenge would be too particularly difficult. Enjolras had been forced to learn to cook when he and Courfeyrac had moved in together, refusing to subsist on take out or his friend’s abysmal attempts at even cooking spaghetti. After reading several books and a few mishaps, Enjolras had come to pride himself on his ability to at least survive in a kitchen.

 

That said, Enjolras mused as he eyed the ingredients in front of him, baking an unfamiliar dish would be a bit of an adventure. Fortunately, the chef was patient as he walked them through the various steps.

 

Everything was going smoothly until he started blending the milk and egg yokes. The mixer settings were stronger than the ones he was used to, resulting in a moment of panic as the whisk spun too fast and, before he could turn it off, the mixer spat out some of the mixture, splashing a few stray drops on his face.

 

At his side Jehan giggled, but they didn’t look much better, face spotted in flour and braid dripping from where they’d accidentally dropped it in the batter and been forced to restart.

 

He felt his cheeks flush, grabbing at a cloth to clean his cheek.

 

“Oh don’t look so upset, Enjolras.” Jehan teased, poking his recently cleaned cheek with a coated hand.

 

Enjolras spluttered, but rather than wipe it again he decided to meet the challenge in the other’s gaze. Straight faced, he stuck a finger into the mixture that had landed on the table and swiped a stripe down Jehan’s face.

 

Grey eyes blinked in surprise, before a wide grin split across their face.

 

From then on, they worked in tandem, teasingly tossing small bursts of batter at each other while they rolled the dough into circles and arranged them on cookie sheets. Enjolras was glad he’d removed his red jacket when they first started, but felt a bit bad about ruining his friend’s shirt.

 

Perhaps they should have paid a bit more attention to what they were doing though, because when they pulled their trays out of the oven, the circles were misshapen and burnt.

 

“Well those look terrible.”

 

The shifted their gaze from their trays to Kenny, who was stacking his own perfectly made circles with the mixture of water, brandy and dulce de leche. His expression was smug.

 

“I figured this would be right your alley, Jehan. Or are you not feeling very feminine today?”

 

Jehan’s face fell, a bit stunned at the words.

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Randi piped up, struggling with her own lumpy circles.

 

“Well, I just figured if he didn’t think he fit the male mold, he must at least have some feminine characteristics to make him question it.”

 

The silence was deafening. Randi growled, eyes flashing like she would happily finish the fight they’d started the other day. Enjolras gritted his teeth, wondering if Jehan would mind if he joined her.

 

“Because baking is such a feminine stereotype?” she snapped, gesturing to Kenny’s cooking station. “A bit rich coming from you.”

 

Kenny noticed the tension in the room, rolling his eyes unconcernedly. “Dude,” he said pointedly to Jehan, “Call off your bitch. It was just a joke. Relax.”

 

Jehan’s eyes turned flinty, “Don’t call me dude.”

 

Enjolras put a comforting hand on their bright paisley clad shoulder, taking a quick look around the room. Fantine had a hand pressed on Combeferre’s shoulder, in attempt to keep him from jumping in. The rest of the room that he could see was torn between shooting daggers at Kenny or watching curiously to see what sort of drama they could scrounge up for their show.

 

Kenny scowled, turning to two of his buddies. “Special snowflakes can’t even take a joke anymore.”

 

“Back off,” Enjolras snapped, pushing Jehan behind him. “How Jehan identifies is none of your business, and it’s not a joke.”

 

He stalked around the tables, pausing inches from Kenny, his hands clenched at his sides. He vaguely acknowledged Bossuet appearing at his back, having abandoned his own station.

 

“I would have thought that someone in our community would be a bit more sensitive about the way others identify themselves.”

 

Kenny sneered. “What the hell do you care? He your girlfriend now or something? Tell me,” He mocked, “is it like screwing a woman? Does he let you go down on him or has he already cut it –“

 

Enjolras barely registered throwing the punch, only the cracking sensation and pain in his hand as it connected with bone. Kenny fell hard against the tables, crashing into the bottle of brandy meant for the dessert, causing it to shatter everywhere.

 

One of his friends helped him up while the other shoved at Enjolras, who tripped and fell back, his injured hand falling into a pile of shattered glass, stinging from the alcohol meeting the open wound.

 

Bossuet tackled the guy who’d shoved Enjolras, managing to get in a few good hits and fending off the other friend who tried to jump him from behind before producers and PAs finally intervened, pulling everyone apart and forcing opposing parties into separate corners.

 

Combeferre jerked out of Fantine’s hold, “That is enough!”

 

Enjolras carefully pushed himself to his feet; stepping back to where Jehan was slouched, head in hand.

 

“I will not tolerate disrespect of this nature.” Combeferre was generally a friendly, if serious individual. Now though, his dark eyes were fierce, expression dangerous. A hint of a normally supressed accent bled through his words as he spoke.

 

“The three of you,” Combeferre motioned to Kenny, whose nose was bleeding profusely much to Enjolras bitter glee, and the two friends who’d helped in the scuffle, “Will be sent home immediately.”

 

“What!” One the friends screeched, “They attacked him, first. Why aren’t they getting sent home?”

 

“Because,” Combeferre gave Enjolras and Bossuet an appraising look, “If things do have to get violent, it should be for the right reason, not to protect a man who deserved it.”

 

The three were forced out of the kitchen, yelling back pleas for second chances. Combeferre ignored them, striding over to Jehan who was still slouched over.

 

“Hey,” he murmured gently. “You ok?”

 

Jehan lifted their head, a worn look on their face. “Fine.”

 

Combeferre frowned, darting a quick look over his shoulder, “Look, I have to take care of something with the producers, but I hope we can talk later. Is that ok?”

 

Jehan gave a small, tight smile. “Sure.”

 

“Enjolras.”

 

Combeferre held out a hand to squeeze Enjolras’ uninjured one.

 

“Thank you for having their back.”

 

Combeferre left before he could respond. He shifted his focus back to Jehan who was watching him, with an expression that couldn’t decide to be thankful or annoyed.

 

“That wasn’t necessary, Enjolras.” Jehan chided, gently. “I’m used to it. It’s not even the worst thing I’ve ever been told.”

 

Something twisted in his chest that this kind, free spirit would ever have to get used to being treated like that. “You shouldn’t have to be used to it. If you don’t want us fighting your battles, understood, but don’t think for a second you deserve that kind of bullshit.”

 

Jehan opened their mouth to respond when a short sandy haired man with a cane limped over to them arguing with Bossuet, who seemed amused and a little intrigued.

 

“You can’t just throw people around and expect me not to do a thorough evaluation to ensure you didn’t hurt yourself. I’m a medic.”

 

Bossuet smirked, “By all means, Joly, I’m fully willing for you to give me a very thorough evaluation.”

 

Jehan and he exchanged a glance, dark mood lifted for the moment.

 

Joly flushed a bit, giving the red haired man a steady look.

 

“If you have any symptoms in the morning, feel free to come by my office. For now, he gestured at Enjolras’ hand. “I’ve got a patient to patch up.”

 

“Sure thing, doc.” Bossuet held out a hand for Jehan to take. “Come on, my sweet summer child, let’s let the guy work.”

 

The two wandered off, joining Randi and a couple of the other girls who instantly started fussing over a bemused Jehan.

 

Joly was quick and methodical as he pulled shards out of his hand, cleaned the cuts and wrapped his fingers gingerly.

 

“I don’t think you broke anything, but take it easy the next few days all the same.” He handed Enjolras a baggie full of bandages and ointments along with instructions on how to apply them.

 

“I’ll check on you in a couple days to make sure everything is healing right.”

 

Enjolras wanted to say it wasn’t necessary, this wasn’t his first time getting into a scuffle of some sort, but the smaller man was determined so he simply nodded his agreement.

 

“You know.” The other man grinned, “You should be glad it wasn’t your face. From what my girlfriend says, you’re not too keen on wearing makeup for the camera.”

 

Enjolras frowned, “Your girlfriend is Eponine?” He tried to picture it, but it just seemed wrong.

 

“No, no. God no.” Joly laughed, “Musichetta.”

 

“Oh.” Enjolras breathed out, embarrassed. That made way more sense.

 

“Anyway,” Joly packed up his medkit, and grabbed his cane from where he’d dropped it on the tables. “Before I forget, thanks for punching that guy in the face.”

 

He winked, limping away.

 

Enjolras ducked his head. He wasn’t a violent person, really, but he’d always had a little too much passion for his own good.

 

“Are you ok?” A familiar gruff voice asked.

 

Enjolras stiffened, refusing to raise his head. He’d had a rough enough day as it was.

 

“I’m not in the mood for any of you’re snide comments right now, Grantaire.”

 

“Well good.” He felt the warmth of the other man as he leaned against the table beside him. “Cause I wasn’t going to give you any.”

 

Enjolras lifted his head and eyed him warily. He was surprised to note the other man was clean-shaven, red beanie nowhere in sight. The lack of stubble made the edges of his cheekbones far more prominent. His mess of dark hair was even brushed back in an attempt at seeming put together. The dark circles under his stormy eyes had faded to a light blue, rather than the sagging purple he’d remembered.

 

Enjolras was forced to admit he looked… good, _really_ good.

 

Grantaire rolled his eyes, taking Enjolras’ long stare for disbelief. “You know, I’m not always an asshole.”

 

He held out a large hand between them. When he was met with nothing but confusion, Grantaire sighed.

 

“Your hand, Enjolras. I just want to see the damage for myself.”

 

Enjolras isn’t sure why he does it, but he gives Grantaire his throbbing, bandaged hand. The other man is surprisingly quiet, full cupid bow lips pursed in concentration, as he gently drags his hands nimbly across Enjolras’ fingers, taking note of every subtle flinch.

 

“I’m sorry.” Enjolras was quiet. There was a weird stillness to the air around them that he didn’t want to disrupt. Grantaire met his gaze, confusion clear on his face.

 

“For my behaviour in the office.” He clarified.

 

“Ah.” Grantaire laughed in self deprecation, “I wasn’t exactly fair to you, myself, Apollo.”

 

“Why do you call me that?” Enjolras hadn’t given it much thought before, always distracted by something else in the conversation. Yet, now that he thought about it, he didn’t think the other man had ever used his name until just a few minutes prior.

 

Grantaire shifted uncomfortably, releasing his warm grasp on Enjolras’ hand. He fidgeted with the cuff of his long sleeved, green henley.

 

“I suppose it suits you.” He said finally.

 

“Ah.” Enjolras cocked his head, “Well, please don’t use it.” He didn’t like the implications that came with being compared to a god.

 

The other man chuckled, shaking his head. “I highly doubt I’ll stop.”

 

Enjolras’ brow furrowed, mouth half open to respond before deciding he’d had enough arguments for the day.

 

He nodded his head to the rush of bodies and mess on the floor instead. “Is it always going to be like this?” He wondered.

 

Grantaire shrugged, unconcerned. As if this was old news to him. Enjolras figured, if he’d been working on the show for a while, it probably was.

 

“Welcome to the Bachelor, my dear. I did try to warn you, Lord of the Flies.” He teased, mouth quirked.

 

Enjolras rolled his eyes, settling back against the table scant inches from Grantaire.

 

“Still not the correct use of that metaphor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I didn't add any media reactions this week, mostly because it was taking me forever and i wanted to get this chapter uploaded. I'll be adding them back in next chapter though.


	3. Week 3 Part 1: Radio Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been almost a week of silence. A week since Grantaire has spoken to him. They weren't friends so why... why does he care so much?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys. Sorry this has taken SO LONG to be updated. A million things happened, and when I had motivation to write, I didn't have the time or when I had the time I couldn't find the words. 
> 
> Everything I wanted to do in this chapter wasn't flowing right so I'm splitting it into two parts. There isn't a lot of "action" in this first part - it's more introspective. I've got a lot planned for the second part. It isn't finished yet, but it is fully outlined. 
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me and I hope you enjoy!

Enjolras reclined in pleasure under the warmth of the late summer sun, the sounds of his new friends splashing in the pool or chatting animatedly beside him lulling him into much needed contentment. Ever since the incident with Kenny, Enjolras felt he’d been walking on eggshells as crew members continued shooting him wary looks and rumors of battery charges spread.

It felt nice to have a moment to breathe and focus on something else.

“Oh you ass!”

Enjolras lifted his head just as Bossuet fell back into the pool with a loud splash, Bahorel and Feuilly doubled over in laughter clutching at each other. He exchanged amused looks with Cossette and Randi who were talking animatedly on their laid flat pool chair, the latter absently braiding Cosette’s long, newly dyed hair.

Her and Randi had disappeared at some point yesterday after Cosette had lamented about finding her hair boring and reemerged several hours later with Cosette proudly sporting soft, subtle, lilac curls.

“What did we miss?” Courfeyrac appeared at his side, plate of sandwiches in hand, and Marius trailing behind him.

“The boys are being boys,” Randi chimed in, pausing her braiding to nick one of the sandwiches off the plate, ignoring Courf’s affronted noise.

Enjolras frowned, noting they were still short one. “Where’s Jehan?”

Courfeyrac shrugged, “Last I saw them, they were talking to that producer guy of yours. Grantaire, I think? Seemed pretty hush hush, they both shut up pretty quick when I walked by.”

He tried not to react at the mention of the producer, who had been strangely absent since their conversation after the incident. Where all the other contestants seemed to be consistently hounded by their producers for this and that, Enjolras had had quiet. Even Floreal and Jubilee had had attention from Grantaire.

He should have been grateful for it, hardly caring how he did on the show, but something about the dark haired man seemingly avoiding him for some unknown reason nagged at him.

Between Grantaire’s concern over his hand and their quiet banter, he’d thought they’d reached an understanding after the fight. More than that… it had been nice to talk to the man when they weren’t baiting each other into an argument.

His healing hand twitched involuntarily at the memory. Shoving it into the pocket of his sweatpants, he forced his attention back to his friends. There was no point dwelling on it when the other man seemed intent on ignoring him.

Enjolras’ attention refocused as Bosssuet was finally pulling himself out of the pool, grumbling.

“Asshole, you know I’m not supposed to get this wet.” He gestured at his hand that was still wrapped from where it’d been sliced by glass during the brawl.

“Guess you’ll just have to get Joly to check it out then, won’t you?” Cossette teased.

Bossuet visibly perked up at the idea before he tried, quite unsuccessfully, to school his features into disinterest.

“Yes… I suppose.” He sighed dramatically, “Well, I must get this checked out before it gets infected don’t I?”

Not waiting for a response, he disappeared into the house, leaving his towel and dry clothes in its pile by Enjolras’ feet.

There was a beat of silence as they watched him disappear into the house before they fell into a fit of laughter. Even Marius, who Enjolras had noticed tended to be oblivious to these sorts of things, was grinning widely at his friends’ retreating back.

“Ten bucks says they’re already making out.” Feuilly said, dropping heavily into the chair beside Enjolras.

“No bet,” Randi snorted, “Bless him, but his excuses for why he suddenly needs to see Joly are getting worse by the day.”

“What was his excuse yesterday?” Corfeyrac mused, munching on a sandwich. “Something about needing Joly to make sure he didn’t have the flu because someone coughed on him, I think it was.”

Enjolras snorted, lips quirking in a grin.

“Did we even see him again last night?”

The group paused, each considering the question.

“You know…” Bahorel mused from his spot at Feuilly’s feet, “I don’t think we did. I just remember him waking us up at ass a clock this morning ranting about wanting to go swimming.”   
  
Feuilly groaned, eyes clenched tight, dropping forward to rest his head on Bahorel’s bare shoulder.

“It was awful. If we weren’t friends I might have killed him, he was so damn chipper.”

Marius suddenly looked stricken, “Wait. You don’t think he spent the night with him? I thought Bossuet was just pining. You don’t think they’re actually…” he lowered his voice, eyes darting as if making sure no one would overhear them, “They aren’t actually _doing_ anything, right? I mean, what about Joly’s girlfriend?”

They all shot Marius varying degrees of disbelieving looks and Enjolras had to rethink his earlier assessment of Marius’ short lived moment of not being completely oblivious.  

“Marius,” Cosette dropped a gentle hand on his knee, “Have you not noticed how Musichetta and he flirt?”

“Flirt?” Marius looked confused, “He’s friendly with her, sure, but I wouldn’t say he was flirting. I mean… all this pining over Joly.”

Courfeyrac groaned, head in hand, murmuring prayers from every deity he could think of to spare him.

“Oh for fucks sake,” Randi rolled her eyes, “Marius, let me put it simply. They’re probably all fucking each other. You know, a threesome? Polyamory? They all dig each other?”

“Wait, what?” Marius blinked in surprise. “That’s a thing?”

The group collectively groaned in frustration. Cosette, a better person than all of them, just patted his hand and promised to explain it to him later.

“Still,” Bahorel mused frowning slightly, “Should we talk to him? I’m pretty sure there was something in our contracts about not hooking up with staff. You know, since we’re all supposed to be here to date Combeferre.”

Feuilly hummed in agreement, a strange look crossing his face, “Yea… pretty sure they’d frown on contestants hooking up with someone else.” His voice was strained, words soft and barely audible. No one else took notice they’d even heard him speak.

Enjolras frowned at him, taking note of how his hand clenched the empty air above Bahorel’s shoulder.

“Feuilly…” he murmured as quietly as he could manage. The other man gave a subtle shake of his head, refusing to acknowledge Enjolras’ concern.

Enjolras let it drop. It wasn’t his business and this probably wasn’t the place.

“What’s that saying? It’s only wrong if you get caught. Which I’m sure none of you would be stupid enough to do, yes?” An amused raspy voice chimed in from behind them.

Enjolras turned in his lounge chair to see Eponine watching them, brow raised and lips quirked, dark hair worn loose over her pale shoulder. It seemed even she was taking advantage of the warm weather, dressed in a simple, thin-strapped, grey blouse and short black shorts. Her feet were bare, unencumbered by the warm cement beneath them.

Her red lips parted in a shark grin as she took in their surprise, gaze pausing briefly over Cosette, whose hand was still resting gently on Marius’ knee.

“You know,” She strode over to them, hand reaching out to trail nimble fingers absently through Cosette’s newly colored locks, “normally as your producer I would advocate against dramatically changing your look, but…” She paused, shark grin softening into something softer – almost teasing, “I think it suits you, princess.”

Cosette beamed, hands reaching up absently to touch the ends.

“Thanks! Randi and Musichetta did it for me. I was a bit worried you would get mad.” She confessed, sheepishly.

“No,” Eponine hummed, “I like it.” She twisted a strand around her finger, absently.

“Um.” Marius interjected, “Are we late for something? Did you need to see us for a meeting?”

Eponine jolted, as if she’d forgotten he was there. She withdrew her hand, crossing her arms tightly across her chest.

“No, you two are fine. I’m actually here for your fearless leader.”

She turned to Enjolras, jerking her head towards the house.  “We need to talk.”

He watched as she retreated around the side of the house, clearly expecting him to follow after.

“Well that doesn’t sound good.” Courfeyrac shot him a worried look.

Enjolras tried to offer a reassuring smile, but it felt as strained as his newly worn nerves.

When he found her, Eponine was leaning against the bar where Enjolras had seen Combeferre and Courfeyrac playing pool that first night, taking a deep drag of a cigarette. 

“Those will kill you, you know.” He chided, half-heartedly.

She gave him an unimpressed look and took another drag.

“Grantaire sent me to talk to you about Kenny.” Judging by the way her face pinched, she didn’t enjoy playing messenger.

Enjolras couldn’t stop the bitter chuckle passing his lips.

“Is that a problem, blondie?” Eponine snapped.

He shook his head, frustrated. “No. Don’t worry about it.”

It shouldn’t bother him that a man who he had had a single civil conversation with was avoiding him.

“Right, I’m going to ignore that.” She frowned, “Listen, while none of us particularly mind you punching him in the face,” Eponine continued, jumping up to perch on the end of the bar – her long legs swinging absently, “unfortunately you picked a bad time to do it. The higher ups are pissed about another scandal after last season went up in literal flames and what will happen to the show if Kenny actually presses charges the way he’s been threatening to all over social media.”

He knew there would likely be consequences for punching Kenny, but he’d been hoping to put it off just a bit longer. He tried to tell himself it wasn’t as if he didn’t already have a criminal record, that it was worth it for what he had said to Jehan, but there was a big difference between the minimal charges he’d received every time he’d been booked following a slightly too-rowdy protest and battery.

“Grantaire can’t even kick me out himself?” Enjolras interrupted, arms crossing defensively across his bare chest. As if it could hold back the anxiety tightening his lungs. “He never seemed to mind telling me where to shove it.”

Eponine scoffed, rolling her eyes, and muttering to herself. “Men are so _dumb._ ”

She put out the cigarette, sighing heavily, before landing Enjolras with a sharp look.

“Ok. One.” She held up a finger, “You’re not getting kicked off just yet, so fuckin chill.”

She slid off the bar, another finger lifting. “Two. Despite what you apparently think, Grantaire is actually trying to help your ungrateful ass. Just because he hasn’t been coddling your apparently fragile ego this past week doesn’t mean shit. He’s doing everything he can to work with legal and convince the bosses you and Bossuet don’t get charged and won’t be a liability going forward.”

Enjolras blinked in stunned surprise, “Oh…” He breathed out, confused.

“But he’s been avoiding me.”

“Oh what are you, five?” Eponine groaned, “Look, I don’t have time for this. If you have an issue with Grantaire, please take it up with him. I just came here to tell you we have a meeting tomorrow night to figure everything out, officially, and to come up with a plan to keep Kenny and his friends quiet. He may be an asshole, but you did punch first.”

Enjolras flinched, aware he was being a bit ridiculous, and fully deserving of the unimpressed glare Eponine was leveling him with.

“So maybe,” She finished coolly, “Instead of moaning about someone not giving you attention, you should find him and you should say thank you.”

She turned to stalk away, shooting him one last dark look, before pausing.

“Oh.” Eponine pulled a folded envelope from her pocket, “I almost forgot. Your lawyer dropped this off for you.”

“My lawyer?” Enjolras frowned, he didn’t have a lawyer.

He took the thin envelope from her, eyes roaming over the slanted letters of his name. _Fuck_.

“Yea, you know you could’ve mentioned you had one before R went through all that work for you. Would have made shit a lot easier.”

“I don’t have a lawyer.” He retorted absently, feeling a twinge of foreboding as his eyes kept scanning the letters as if the next time they’d look different.

“Then who the fuck was he? Cause he seemed pretty familiar with your information.”

Enjolras ignored her, “Can I borrow your lighter?”

She frowned, eyes narrowed in a mix of confusion and frustration, but quickly produced the lighter.

He took it from her gratefully, quickly igniting a flame and brushing it along the edges of the envelope. Eponine choked in surprise beside him, as Enjolras dropped it into a decorative ceramic bowl, the flames eating away at the horribly familiar handwriting.

“What the hell, Blondie?”

“I don’t want any contact with that man. The one claiming to be my lawyer.” The last letters of his name were being burned away, along with the folded papers within.

“Care to elaborate?”

Enjolras growled, pushing the lighter back into her small hands. “I just don’t, alright.”

Without waiting for a response, Enjolras retreated back towards his friends, forcing down the rush of anxiety the past ten minutes had produced. He put on as careless a face as he could as he rejoined the group, but the way Courf was shooting him worried looks every few minutes Enjolras knew he wasn’t succeeding.

In the back of his mind he watched the letter burn, and hoped that it wouldn’t come back to bite him in the ass.

\-----------

Grantaire sighed heavily, shoving his phone into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. Media was still a shit storm. He didn’t know why he bothered sometimes.

“That bad?”

He glanced up in surprise, quickly relaxing at the sight of Eponine, though his lips still twisted into a scowl.

“You’re late, Ep.”

He’d been stuck at that table for the last 30 minutes, practically shriveling under the pressure and combined scrutiny of Javert and ABC management. When the bottle of wine on the table to his left had begun to draw him in like a sweet siren song, he’d made his excuses and ducked outside for some air.

She scoffed, gesturing to her sleek red dress and piled hair. “It takes time to look this nice, R. We can’t all just throw on a suit and walk out the door.”

He gave her a halfhearted glare, “At least tell me you brought me a cigarette.”

Eponine raised a brow, shaking her head. “You hate smoking.”

“Well,” he snapped, rubbing a hand over his face, “It’s better than drinking.”

There was no response, but a few moments later he heard a faint click and a thin object pressed between his fingers.

He dropped his hand to look down at the lit cigarette in his other and shot his friend a grateful look as he took in a long drag, feeling some of the tension leech from his body.

“Was it that bad?” She asked again looking pointedly past him at the restaurant.

Grantaire frowned, reconciling the most recent articles on his phone with the tension at the table. “Apart from a few outlets, the media seems to be on our side, but they can smell blood in the water. Javert is pissed.”

Eponine rolled her eyes, “Javert is always pissed. His publicist will keep spinning this our way and the show will get back on track. We all know the show itself isn’t liable for any legal issues in this situation, anyway. Besides, its reality TV. Drama signs the checks.”

“Does it sign pardons, too?” He snorted, resisting the urge to drop his head in his hands and opting to take another drag instead. “Cause the way Kenny keeps talking, Enjolras is about to have some serious battery charges thrown his way. He’s moaning that apparently Enjolras broke bone.”

As much as he loved watching Enjolras punch that asshole in the face, Kenny was unfortunately within his rights to press charges as Enjolras was the one to hit first.

Eponine frowned, brows furrowed in that way they did when she was pissed about something but trying to stop herself from speaking her mind.

“Ok…” She started, voice tight, and Grantaire braced himself for whatever was coming. “Putting aside that we both know if that asshole seriously tried anything, there would be serious backlash. Social media is already burning him at the stake.”

Grantaire snorted. “We both know that doesn’t guarantee anything.”

Eponine flicked him for the interruption. “Which brings me back to my point. I’ve been quiet about your sudden and unusual desire to be altruistic. Watched with as minimal commentary as I’m capable of as you’ve been running around for the past week talking to publicists and lawyers and pulling favors with Valjean to make sure golden boy stays as clean as possible legally speaking and in the media.“

“I’m sure there’s a question in there?”

“You barely know him, R. Why this one?” Eponine asked softly, “God knows I love you, but you’re not a charitable person.”

Grantaire tried to respond with something witty, but it died on his lips at the serious look on his friends’ face. Taking another deep drag, his thoughts jumbled as they tried, for what felt the hundredth time that week, to come up with an answer.

Enjolras was beautiful, yes, but he worked in television. Beautiful people weren’t a rarity, though a part of him argued Enjolras’ particular beauty was _quite_ unique. He liked to think he wasn’t won over by a pretty face – that he wasn’t that shallow – but there was just something….

It was something about the way he carried himself, like he was always heading off to battle. Something about the fierceness with which he lived his life and shared his convictions. Despite barely knowing the guy, Grantaire looked at him and saw wonder, and potential. His hands constantly itching to paint a solitary figure leading thousands, wrapped in golden light and swirls of red evoking passion and hope. A promise of tomorrow.

“He makes me want to believe in something again.” He murmured, the words tumbling past his lips in confession. “That one day, I’ll want to see the morning.” The feelings being wrought in him made known as simply as he could manage them.

He snubbed out the cigarette, avoiding the crestfallen look on Eponine’s face and longing once again for the bottle of wine sitting at the table of executives waiting for them.  

Eponine took his hand in hers, lacing their fingers together in a rare moment of physical affection.

“Well, that whiney shit doesn’t deserve it.”

He choked a laugh at the comment. Eponine always had her own brand of cheering people up.

“The hell he ever do to you?” He asked in mild amusement.

She rolled her eyes, shifting her weight. “I went to talk to him like you asked and he wouldn’t stop whining about you apparently avoiding him.”

“Huh.” Grantaire cocked his head in surprise, “Given he’s not my biggest fan, I didn’t think he’d noticed. Interesting.”

She groaned. “I take it back. You two deserve each other.”

He grinned at Eponine, whose frustration was betrayed by the gentle squeeze of his hand.

They stood like that for a few moments as couples brushed by them on their way inside. He really didn’t want to go back in there. His desires must have shown on his face, because Eponine wordlessly reached into her black clutch and handed him her half used pack of cigarettes and a spare lighter before shifting towards the entrance.

“Hey, wait.” He grabbed her wrist to stop her. “I can’t let you do this by yourself. That’s not fair.”

Eponine sighed. “I think you’ve done enough for the week, yea? Just try to get some sleep. Preferably in your own house this time.”

They both knew he wasn’t likely to go to the house when he was in a mood, but it never stopped her from trying. He loved her for it.

Pocketing the lighter and cigarettes, he pressed a grateful kiss to her cheek.

“R,” Eponine warned as he leaned back, “just be careful. I don’t want to see you relapse trying to help someone who won’t appreciate it.”

He nodded wordlessly and watched her disappear inside alone without further argument to take on the meeting herself, proving once again why she was his best friend and how much he didn’t deserve her. 

\--------------

The world rushed by him as Enjolras focused on putting one foot in front of another. The onslaught of varying emotions pushed aside for the single minded focus he put into his run. As traitorous thoughts crept on the edges of his mind, Enjolras pushed his body harder and faster as if he might escape the world if he could just run fast enough.

It was only a matter of time, of course, before the world would come looking for him, but for now, in the brisk evening air beneath the light of the stars, he would lose himself in the steady beat of his limbs and the controlled in and out of his breathing. As much as he didn’t regret his actions, there was still a possible lawsuit waiting for him if he stopped running, as well as the memory of that letter and what it meant.

It didn’t help that every time he closed his eyes that week he kept reliving that same dream of stormy seas and a warm embrace.

Enjolras couldn’t make sense of it, and any attempt to decipher his thoughts only led to more confusion and a growing sense of agitation and restless, fitful sleep. Courfeyrac had practically shoved his running shoes at him when he’d inadvertently jostled him awake at 3 a.m. for the third night in a row.

He didn’t normally approve of running from your problems, preferring to face any problem head on with conviction and a spine of steel. Yet, since arriving at this house he’d been doing a lot of things he didn’t normally do.

Growling in frustration as he shifted to turn a corner he’d already passed four times that hour, Enjolras squeezed his eyes shut, trying once again to push away the mess of concerns peeking on the edge of his consciousness, working to bleed through his shaky concentration.

Just as he turned the corner he slammed into something solid, barely registering the burning erupting down his front in effort to steady himself on his feet as momentum flung him back.

“Shit – Fuck!” A familiar voice growled. Enjolras’ feet steadied, wrenching his eyes open to take in the shock of black curls and painful grimace twisting tanned features under the faint lights marking the perimeter of the mansion. Drawing his gaze down, he took in the matching dark stains marring their shirts and the way the other man’s hands clenched tightly around a large gray mug.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this, Apollo.”

Crap.

“Are you okay?” Enjolras tugged his ruined t shirt away from his burning skin, stepping closer to where Grantaire was practically doubled over. His words were rough, breathing harsh as his lungs used the moment of sudden stillness to seek out as much oxygen as possible.

Grantaire lifted his head, giving Enjolras a flat, unimpressed look. “Just peachy.” He drawled, straightening himself gingerly, dropping his mug onto the windowsill behind him.

“I’ve been practically dreaming of that cup of coffee.” He sighed mournfully, pulling at his own soaked front.

Enjolras shifted uncomfortably. No one had been there the other times he’d made that turn. Nor should there have been at this hour.

“I didn’t see you.” He offered, attempting to sound apologetic rather than accusing.

Grantaire snorted, raising a mocking brow, “Yea, no shit.”

Deft fingers went to his collar, where Enjolras was surprised to note the other man was actually wearing a tie. Actually, now that Enjolras got a good, long look at the other man for the first time in a week, his customary jeans and long sleeved henley had been replaced with fitted grey slacks, shiny black belt and long sleeved dark blue button down that was now darkened by a large stain from where the coffee had spilt between them.

Enjolras realized a beat too late that he was staring, forcing his gaze up to see Grantaire giving him an odd look, hands paused at his neck where he’d freed himself of his tie and was starting to make work of the tiny buttons there. 

“Isn’t it a bit late to be in trousers?” Enjolras deflected, voice level. “Besides, I didn’t take you for the professional sort.” He flinched a bit, internally, at his sniping. Seems he was still annoyed about being ignored for a week – despite the excuses Eponine had made a couple days ago.

“Oh, who’s to say I didn’t have a hot date?” Grantaire countered, scowling. “You lot don’t have a monopoly on getting laid.”

Enjolras flushed, blood pressure rising, “Couldn’t have been that hot if you’re hanging out here. Bit tragic if your first stop after getting kicked out of bed is to come back to work.”

The look on Grantaire’s face drove home to Enjolras just how much of an unnecessary dick he was being. If we were honest he couldn’t even say what it was about Grantaire’s words that had struck him. The agitation and frustration his run had been meant to keep at bay were bleeding through and sharpening each word with an infliction he hadn’t intended.

“Fuck you, Apollo.” Stormy blue eyes glowered, stuffing the silky strip of his tie into a pocket as he shouldered past Enjolras and made his way around to the back of the house.

A part of him wanted to ignore the pang of guilt and resume his run; to try again to clear his mind, but one look over his shoulder at the slump of broad shoulders slinking into the night and Enjolras found his feet moving unbidden to follow after.

He caught up to the other man at the edges of the large pool, kicking off black loafers and making short work of the remaining buttons of his ruined shirt.

“Look,” Grantaire’s voice was even – too even. “If it’s all the same to you I came out here tonight to take a couple laps in peace. I’m sure there are some stray unsuspecting PA’s slinking about you can steamroll.”

Enjolras probably deserved that. “What if the only one I want to steamroll is right here?”

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. He didn’t even know what in the hell that was supposed to _mean._ It at least had the desired effect of gaining Grantaire’s attention, confusion and disbelief etched in his features.

“What are you even doing here, Apollo? It’s four in the morning. Shouldn’t you be tucked up in bed dreaming of your next big cause or whatever it is that gets you activist junkies off?”

Enjolras ignored the jab, “Look, I’m - I’m sorry. I’m sure your date was lovely.” The words were harder to say than they should have been.

Grantaire snorted at his poor attempt at an apology, fingers returning to undoing the fastenings on his clothing.

“Don’t hurt yourself there, big guy. Not like I expected much else from you.”

Face flushing in a mix of irritation and contrition, Enjolras wasn’t sure if he wanted to argue or apologize for being a dick. His lips parted, sure to make a comment that was a bastardization of both, but the words stuck in his throat as he found himself thrown off by the sudden show of skin as Grantaire finally shed his button down and kicked off his slacks. The soft lighting made it difficult to make out the exact patterns, but he could clearly see the swirling ink wrapping along the other man’s surprisingly toned figure, the largest piece weaving along sharp collarbone and down his right arm in a full sleeve. Another compilation of black lines wound its way down his left rib cage – ending somewhere beneath the black fabric of Grantaire’s briefs.

Enjolras had never cared much for tattoos himself, but these… even in the faint light they looked alive in their intricacy. Distantly, he noted this was the first time he’d seen the other man in anything but his customary long sleeves.

The splash of water as Grantaire jumped into the pool jerked Enjolras from the haze he had sunk into. God, he was tired. How many times now had he allowed himself to be completely thrown by what should have been the most innocuous of things. He just needed a decent night sleep to reboot his brain.

First things first, though.

He shuffled over to the edge of the pool, watching Grantaire glide smoothly across the water with practiced ease, and took a seat in one of the chairs hoping the other man would come up for air soon so he could say his apology and go to bed.

Apology not a fight, he reminded himself. As much as he wanted to find out why the other man was ignoring him all week, this wasn’t the time to start asking.

Courfeyrac would be so proud of him for not just running off and leaving the mood between them hostile. He’d consider it character growth. Enjolras considered it a lapse in judgement brought on by lack of sleep. Sleep, it would seem by the heaviness of his lids, which was now eager to claim him.

“What are you still doing here?” The dark haired main sounded annoyed, breathing heavy as he pulled himself up on the edge of the pool where Enjolras was sitting.

Enjolras blinked rapidly to clear the fog of sleep to focus on the pronounced slope of the man’s nose and the wet curls that couldn’t be held down for long and were poking out in random places.

“Sorry for being a dick.” He deadpanned, unsure what else to say.

Grantaire looked surprised at the words, large eyes blinking slowly, lips pursed like he didn’t quite know what to make of Enjolras.

“You really don’t know how to do apologies, do you?”

Enjolras bristled, “Look. I said something rude and unnecessary. I said I’m sorry. Job done. Enjoy your swim. You can go back to ignoring me now.”

He pushed himself up and started back the way he’d come, adding another item to the ever growing list of things he needed to run to avoid for a few blissful moments.

“Wait.” Grantaire groaned.

Freezing, he reluctantly shifted his gaze to the man who was now gesturing for Enjolras to come closer. His feet were moving before he’d even made the conscious decision to go.

“What.” He muttered, defensively.

“I didn’t think you’d care.” Grantaire confessed.

Enjolras frowned, “Care about what?”

“I mean,” the other man pushed himself out of the pool so he was now sitting on the edge, back to Enjolras, providing the blonde with a closer view of the intricate lines covering tanned skin. “I didn’t think you’d care that I was avoiding you.”

“I don’t care.” he snapped, grateful the other man wasn’t facing him and couldn’t make out the way his face flushed in embarrassment.

Grantaire snorted loudly. “Clearly.”

Enjolras’ silence damned him.

Sighing, Enjolras pushed his feet out of his sneakers and socks, before dropping to sit beside the other man. His feet dipping into the cool water.

“Fine.” He admitted, refusing to look at the man next to him. “It bothered me. I just thought….” He shrugged helplessly, still unsure why he was so bothered.

“It doesn’t matter what I thought. If you want to ignore me, fine, but according to Eponine I should at least thank you first. For trying to keep my record clean. You didn’t have to do that.”

Grantaire snorted. “Was that the thank you?”

“Pardon?” Enjolras tilted his head to look at the other man’s profile. His features were twisted in mocking amusement.

“It’s just, I’m overwhelmed by all the gratitude and goodwill you’re throwing my way.” He mimicked a swooning woman from the old black and white films.

Enjolras sighed in frustration. He could already feel the other man working his way under his skin unlike any other, the tension and restlessness buzzing beneath his skin.

“Don’t be an ass, Grantaire.”

Grantaire grinned widely, unashamed. A small part of him almost found it charming.

That small part of him was quickly stamped down. He pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes clenched tight. Fuck, he needed sleep.

“R.” Came the quiet murmur in his ear.

“What?” He startled, dropping his hand and taking in the sudden closeness of the other man.

Grantaire’s expression had softened, “You can call me R, Apollo.”

The weight of stormy blue eyes on him felt heavy and penetrating. His throat was suddenly dry and he swallowed thickly before managing a reply.

“Only if you stop calling me Apollo.” He managed to keep his fluster and frustration out of his voice.

The brunette snorted, rolling his eyes. “Not a chance.”

“Was worth a try.” He shrugged.

The silence was long as they both sat, gazes locked on anything but each other; Enjolras absently kicking at the water. For all that the other man managed to get under his skin and set his nerves on fire when they argued, there was something about just sitting with him in silence that soothed a deep ache he didn’t even realize he had until these moments.

It occurred to him suddenly that this was why he’d been so bothered. To have it and then it just suddenly be gone. He would never ask but…. he couldn’t have been the only one who felt it.

“I’m sorry for avoiding you.” Grantaire murmured into the stillness. “If I’d known it would bother you I…. well. To be honest, I probably still would have done it.”

Grantaire grinned sheepishly.

“Oh.” Enjolras managed, stung. “Then… why help me? Eponine made it sound like a big deal.”

“Why do I do anything?” Grantaire quipped, neatly avoiding the question. “Still,” Grantaire gently prodded at Enjolras’ temple, “despite whatever crazy is probably running through your radical brain right now, I don’t actually dislike you, and I _am_ sorry for blowing you off.”

His fingers stroked gently down the side of Enjolras’ face, cupping his jaw lightly in a calloused grip and forcing their eyes to meet.

Enjolras’ breath caught in his throat, his own hand instinctively reaching to clutch at a tattooed wrist.

“Forgive me?” Grantaire murmured into the scant space between them.

“Um…” Enjolras swallowed thickly, exhaustion rattling his brain. “Are you going to do it again?”

His voice was shaky, betraying his unease and confusion. If he were in another place, talking to another guy he might have known what was expected of him, but in this place…. With this guy… he was lost.

Grantaire didn’t answer, simply withdrew his hand, placing it on the concrete in the space between their thighs. He let his piercing, guarded, gaze linger on Enjolras a little bit longer before drawing away.

“I’m going to finish my laps.” He murmured, voice rough.

He sank into the water before Enjolras could react. None of his questions had been answered but at the same time… perhaps everything had been answered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this first part!  
> Feel free to leave a comment/kudos!   
> I'll try to get the next part out much sooner than this last one.


	4. Week 3 Part II: Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Enjolras' first one on one date looming, it seems as good a time as any for reflection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. I know it's been FOREVER since I updated. I wanted to finish this chapter, but it continued to get away from me so I'm posting it as a part 2/3. 
> 
> I've been dealing with a change in jobs, some personal drama, and starting law school so my free time to write is practically non existent.
> 
> Not a ton happens this chapter as it is mostly an interlude between parts 1 and 3, but I hope you enjoy it all the same! 
> 
> Please read and review. I'd love to know your thoughts.

Enjolras was moments from falling asleep where he sat, when a playful splash of water to his legs startled him.

His eyes flew open, the fog of sleep melting away. Grantaire’s head was peeking out over the smooth surface, brow arched.

“What?” he managed, exhausted.

“Go to bed, Enj. It’s late and you’ve got a busy day ahead of you.”

Enjolras snorted, “You’re one to talk. Do you often go for late night swims at your work after a bad date?”

Grantaire winced, “Ok, first off. It wasn’t a date.”

He swam to the edge, pulling himself easily out of the pool. Streams of water trickling down his skin, which glowed faintly in the edges of twilight.

“Second,” he held out a hand to Enjolras, who grabbed it warily after eying it suspiciously for a long moment. “I was at a meeting trying to keep your ass out of trouble.”

Grantaire dragged him to his feet, guiding him to sit on one of the reclined pool chairs, before taking a seat on the one beside him. His body faced Enjolras, elbows on knees as he took up much of the space between them.

Enjolras cursed inwardly. He’d somehow forgotten in the midst of the spilled coffee and the apologies and everything else that that meeting was supposed to be last night.

“And third?” He asked, wanting to deflect that conversation as long as possible for the moment.

The brunette snorted, “What makes you think there’s a third?”

“Isn’t there? Why are you here and not at home?”

Grantaire sighed, avoiding Enjolras gaze. He took his time locating a spare towel in a wicker basket behind his chair and painstakingly rubbing his skin dry. Dark brows furrowed as he visibly searched for the right response.

The longer it went on, Enjolras got the feeling he was encroaching on a subject he didn’t yet have the right to ask about.

“Listen,” He managed after a stretching silence, Grantaire no closer to speaking. His tanned skin was starting to redden at the now unnecessary scrub of cloth.

“Clearly, this is none of my business. I won’t be offended if you just tell me to fuck off.”

Grantaire chuckled, a low rumbling sound, finally dropping the towel at his feet.

“Believe me, Enj. I have zero problem telling you to fuck off. I’m fairly certain that isn’t our problem.”

Enjolras’ lips twitched in amusement.

“Clearly.” 

The other man grinned widely at the snark, but the amusement quickly faded as his brow furrowed once again in apprehension.

His gaze bore into Enjolras, searching for something, full red lip worried between his teeth.

Enjolras could see the moment he reached a decision but was still surprised when the other man held out his right arm between them, cautiously.

He frowned, confused, icy blue eyes darting between the inky skin in front of him and Grantaire’s tense expression.

“Look.” Grantaire murmured, gently. “Just… look beneath the ink.”

Enjolras took the other man’s wrist in hand, angling it in the faint outdoor light to get a clearer look. At first, he didn’t understand what Grantaire meant, his vision entranced by the twisting vines and painted wings. Yet when he looked closer, trailed his fingers gently along the twists of the tattoo, he found it.

“Why are you showing me this?” Enjolras whispered, taken aback. His fingers stilled on a long, jagged scar extending from the outer edge of Grantaire’s elbow to wrap around his forearm. Now that he was looking for it, he could make out a whole mess of scar tissue creeping up his arm and wrapping around his shoulder. Tattoo extending just enough to cover all of it.

“Because you asked why I’m here and not at home, and it was easier to show you.”

Enjolras shook his head, confusion clouding his already muggy thoughts. “I don’t understand.”

“There was an accident.” Grantaire confessed, gaze drifting over the inky skin. “In a split moment my whole future was gone. Everything I had planned for my life wiped away. I can cover my skin, but on bad days that house just reminds me of everything I lost.”

Words of comfort caught in his throat. He didn’t know which ones were right.

“Why don’t you just sell it?” Enjolras murmured instead.

Grantaire smiled sadly, “Because amazing things happened there too, and on the good days I can remember that.”

Absently, his fingers resumed their search, dragging gently over the raised tissue and embracing the beauty this man tried to create in the face of something awful.

“You can tell me about it, you know.” He offered, quietly. “The accident, I mean.”

In a flash, Grantaire pulled his arm back, pinning Enjolras with a look.

“Enjolras.”

“Yea?” He asked warily, taking note of the sudden mood change.

“Fuck off.” Grantaire quipped, but his expression was more teasing then angry.

Enjolras huffed a breathy laugh.

“Fair enough.” He cleared his throat, avoiding Grantaire’s smirking face. “Right, so… swimming?”

He gestured vaguely at the pool.

“It relaxes me.” The brunette murmured, gaze peering over the still water a bit fondly. “There’s just something so soothing about the water, you know?”

Enjolras shrugged, “I wouldn’t actually.” He admitted. “I can’t swim.”

That pulled a surprised laugh from the other man. “Well, I guess there are some things our dear Apollo can’t do.”

He growled, “I’m not a god, you know. I’m just a normal guy.”

Grantaire smirked, “Oh darlin’, you’re anything but normal.”

Wickedness gleamed in his eyes, smirk widening to a Cheshire grin. “You know, as your producer I’m obligated to use this information, right?”

Enjolras scowled, “And not as my producer?” He asked, hopefully.

Grantaire raised a perfectly shaped brow, challengingly. “Exactly what am I to you besides your producer? We’re certainly not friends.”

The words stung and Enjolras wished he could refute them, but his mouth couldn’t form the right argument. There was something in the charged connection between them that was more than just producer and contestant, but there was truth in Grantaire’s words that they weren’t quite friends either.

“Ok, then,” He tried instead, “as a decent human being – “

The other man laughed, head thrown back. The lean lines of his neck and the genuine, pleased amusement marking the booming sound momentarily transfixed Enjolras.

“Oh, Apollo. I’m going to have stop you right there.” He managed to say between bursts of laughter. “I’m even less of a decent human being than I am your friend.”

Enjolras frowned, “I don’t believe that.”

He had met enough indecent people in his life to know the truly terrible from the lost and bitter.

Grantaire shrugged, pushing wet curls out of his face. “Doesn’t really matter what you believe, does it? When has believing in anything helped anyone?”

Sighing in frustration, he pushed away from Grantaire, leaning back with his hands braced on the chair’s edge behind him. At least three of his favourite arguments came to mind on this matter, but he pushed the instinct down. No sense in starting another argument so soon.

Grantaire’s grin widened as he took in Enjolras’ consternation. “Besides, maybe if you’re nice,” he teased, voice pitched low, “I’ll teach you one of these days.”

Enjolras face flushed, unsure if it was due to the low growl of Grantaire’s voice or not wanting to admit he’d actually been to several lessons and was merely hopeless.

“Maybe.”

He shifted his body in the chair, curling onto his side facing Grantaire; his head pillowed by his arm.

“Since we both seem to be having bad days, tell me something else that makes you happy.”

Grantaire laughed, “You really want to sit there and listen to me go on about random things that make me happy?”

Enjolras sighed, “I want to be distracted, and I think you do too.”

The other man cocked his head in reluctant agreement, allowing the abrupt change in subject.

“Fine.” He mused, stretching back languidly along his own chair. “Since it’s apparently Grantaire shares hour, let me tell you about this wonderful little shop downtown that serves the best fritters you will ever taste.”

And he did. He told Enjolras all about the small, feisty grandmother that owned the shop. How her family had immigrated and fought through so much to open their little shop. The work he’d done for them to help rebrand their store when business was down. Enjolras just listened as he flitted between topics, the low timbre of his voice relaxing and pushing back his anxieties better than an hour of running ever did.

The last thing he remembered before the ever-looming fog of sleep finally claimed him was Grantaire ranting good-naturedly about Jubilee’s apparently ridiculous demands from him as her producer.

In his dreams he saw shimmering blue birds soaring through trees, searching for something but never quite finding it. Still, it was a pleasant dream - a far cry from the restless fits of blackness and unexplainable stormy seas.

\---------

He shouldn’t still be here. As he watches the sleeping man on the chair beside him, Grantaire knows just how many boundaries he’s crossing. He was supposed to avoid him. Be a fucking professional and put whatever he was feeling aside and do his job.

Enjolras wasn’t supposed to care.

Why did he have to care?

The soft light of dawn was peeking through the clouds. If he had to guess, it was nearly six. The other workers would be here soon, if they weren’t already, and they couldn’t catch him here like this, ogling one of the contestants while still half-dressed from a swim.

Still, the hint of sunlight made Enjolras curls shine bright and silky, and it was very distracting. Without really thinking about it, Grantaire shifted his weight from his own chair to sit carefully on Enjolras’ in the scant space by the other man’s hip. He lifted his hand to brush the curls behind a pale ear, noting with amusement that it had been pierced.

Somehow, he figured there was a story there and it likely involved Courfeyrac.

Fuck, he needed to stop this.

Grantaire sighed but didn’t drop his hand. He trailed gentle fingers along the slope of marble features, needing to know just once what it would feel like while simultaneously cursing himself for being so pathetic.

What was the matter with him? Barely two weeks and he was jeopardizing his entire future for a pretty face who still thought the world was salvageable and was determined to prove it. Grantaire had long ago learned his lesson about caring too much, but that didn’t seem to stop his stomach swooping at the sight of Enjolras burning with conviction or his mouth going dry anytime they stood too close.

Maybe he should find someone to distract him, he thinks desperately. That PA that always brought them their lunch seems perfectly willing, always lingering her touches just a touch too long.

Grantaire hates himself a little for even considering it, but he can’t help it. There has to be something he can do to put these feelings aside.

His job is to push and nudge each of his contestants in a way that would sell the well-crafted narrative and give them a shot at winning. He’s supposed to create romantic tension and drama for other people, not himself.

Some years there have been contestants that were gorgeous and flirty, but Grantaire had never really been tempted to cross that line till now.

With his hands wrapped around that pale chin just hours before, he’d nearly done it. Enjolras had looked so beautiful, his fierceness drawing him in like a beacon. For a moment he thought Enjolras might let him do it; even despite their frequent antagonism. With his hand clenched around Grantaire’s wrist like a lifeline, the blonde had looked at him like he was a wonderous problem that needed to be solved.

Grantaire can only assume that’s why he told Enjolras about the scars. To see if that look was a one-time thing.

It wasn’t.

It was intoxicating.

He can never let himself see it again.

“R..” A soft voice startles him. Grantaire jerks his head frantically, relaxing quickly at the sight of Joly. If he were to be caught like this by anyone, he would rather it be him. They weren’t close in the same way he was with Eponine, but it was a near thing. The accident had made strange bedfellows of them during his recovery.

Behind the sandy haired man, the lights of the house were turning on in force. Shit. He shouldn’t be here right now.

“What are you doing?”  Joly frowned, leaning heavily on his cane.

“Um… I…”  
  
What _was_ he doing? 

“It’s complicated?” He tried. If this situation was anything, it was certainly that.

Joly huffed a laugh.

“Isn’t it always?” He collapsed gracefully on the pool chair Grantaire had abandoned, fixing Grantaire with a steely gaze.

Grantaire fidgeted, suddenly aware that his hand was still stroking blonde curls and that the man attached to them had started to curl into him under his touch.

He dropped his hand like he’d been burned, shrugging sheepishly.

“You know that’s a bad idea?” Joly chided, gently.

He had a way of cutting to the heart of a matter without sounding judgmental.

“Nothing’s happened.” Grantaire defends weakly.

Joly just fixes him with a knowing look.

“Nothing mutual anyway.” He sighs, gaze flitting back to the slumbering man beside him.

His friend purses his lips like he doesn’t quite believe him but is willing to pretend.

“Listen, R.” Joly starts after a long, tense moment where the only sound was the increasingly loud murmur of voices inside. They really should move.

“I know something about complicated. Chetta and I… both found someone.” He said carefully.

That startled him. 

“You’re breaking up?” Grantaire nearly shouted. If there were any two people he knew who believed might beat the odds, it was those two.

Joly frowned, confused. “What? No. Of course not.”

“You just said you found someone else.”

 Joly cocked his head, nose scrunched in thought as he replayed his words.

 "I see how that may have sounded like we were breaking up.” He laughed softly.

Joly shook his head, fingers playing absently over the length of his cane. “I mean we _both_ found some _one._ It’s new and untested and if we’re using your standard, then nothing has happened.” He smirks cheekily. “Still, I think I want it too. I think all three of us do.”

“Oh.” Grantaire breaths, understanding dawning. Almost at once, he recalled snippets of Joly and Chetta over the past few days and understood what Joly was trying to tell him.

“How do you stop yourself?”

Joly smiled gently, grasping Grantaire’s large hands in his small, delicate grasp.

“He’s going to break your heart, R.”

He flinched viciously. That shouldn’t have been a possibility after two weeks.

“Me and Chetta?” Joly continued. “For us it’s just a possibility. Something to consider when all of this is over. For you…” Joly stares pointedly at the sleeping Enjolras.

“I know you. I know what your like. You don’t give yourself easily, but when you do it’s completely. Enjolras seems lovely, and I get why you’re drawn to him.”

 “But?” Grantaire couldn’t help the challenge in his voice. “Am I not good enough?”

Joly let out a slow breath, used to Grantaire’s moods. “I’m just warning you not to give yourself up too much to someone I’m not too sure knows how to be in love. His romantic history is a string of meaningless one-night stands.”

He wanted to defend the blonde. There was nothing wrong with how he lived his life, but the look in Joly’s eyes stayed his anger.

“You’ve got more on the line than any of us and I don’t just mean that project you and Ep are working on.”

Joly flicked his gaze pointedly at the length of tattoos along Grantaire’s arm.

Grantaire recoiled a bit. “I know.” God, did he know.

A crash from inside sounded loudly, causing them both to jump and Enjolras to shift anxiously in his sleep. Unthinking, he resumed stroking his hair till he settled, his breath slow and warm against Grantaire’s palm.

Joly smiled sadly at him. Grantaire wanted to be angry, to rant about how he didn’t need their pity, but he knew Joly was just trying to look out for him.

“I’ll keep my distance.” He promised. It was the only smart move.

That earned him a slightly dubious look which he probably deserved.

He became increasingly aware that the sun was rising higher and soon they wouldn’t be able to take advantage of whatever cover the early morning gave them.

Reluctantly, Grantaire withdrew his hand and stood to gather his scattered clothes. His briefs were thankfully dry as he pulled on his rumpled trousers. With dismay he was reminded of the large dark coffee stain on one of his few nice shirts. Still, he put it on and tried to embody a semblance of togetherness.

“Think Javert will kill me if I walk into our morning production meeting looking like this?” He asked Joly, who was massaging a twinge in his bad leg.

His friend was already shaking his head.

“Go on home, R. Get some sleep, yea? Come back in a few hours. I’ll cover you.” He gestured roughly at Enjolras. “I’ll even grab this poor sod a blanket so he doesn’t catch something.”

Grantaire frowned. “I can’t just miss a meeting, Joly.”

Joly sighed. “What use will you be? Honestly. You need to sleep and you need to give yourself some distance.”

He growled, frustrated at himself that he was allowing himself to wallow like a teenager when there was work to be done. Joly was right though. He had spent a week thinking of nothing but saving Enjolras’ ass. It was time to start thinking of saving his own.

Straightening his collar, he turned to leave, patting Joly lightly on the shoulder as he went.

“R?” Joly called out tentatively as he reached the gate. He paused to acknowledge him.

“I just want you to be safe. You know that right?”

Grantaire nodded, attempting a carefree smile and missing by a mile.

“I know. Don’t worry about me, Joly. Everything will be fine.”

When he felt his gaze fall unbidden to Enjolras’ form, he turned swiftly over his shoulder and told himself he wasn’t running away.

Distance. Just a little distance and everything _would_ be fine.

It had to be.

\---------

Enjolras finally wakes when the sun is high in the sky to a gentle hand nudging him.

Blinking blearily, he makes out the friendly grin and curly locks of his friend.

“Courf?”

Enjolras pushes himself up, surprised to note the thick blanket pooling in his lap. He swore it hadn’t been there when he’d fallen asleep. Had Grantaire… He felt his face flush and stomach flip uncomfortably at the thought.

A hot cup of coffee is pressed into his hands.

“Drink up, love. It’s almost nine and you have your one on one date at eleven.”

The coffee was perfection as he drank it greedily, his senses jolting to alertness. He couldn’t believe he’d slept out here all night. Why hadn’t Grantaire woken him?

“I know our room is crowded, Enj, but you don’t need to sleep out here.” Courfeyrac teased.

Enjolras rolled his eyes, “I didn’t mean to. We were just talking and I – “ He broke off, unsure. Was last night meant to be a secret? He didn’t know what the rules were about contact between producers and contestants, but last night probably went beyond the standard protocol.

Courfeyrac blinked in surprise, “Wait… What? Who is we?”

“Grantaire.” He admitted, reluctantly, gaze darting quickly to make sure they were alone. If anyone could help him make sense of last night, it would be Courf. He couldn’t figure out how they’d gone from yelling at each other to exchanging secrets.

It was all horribly confusing.

“Oh really…” his friend drawled, brow raised in amusement. “Pray tell, why you were out talking with your producer at such a heinous hour.”

Enjolras sighed, pulling his knees to his chest and giving his friend plenty of room to claim the rest of the pool chair.

“I was out running like you made me - ”

Courfeyrac snorted indelicately as he fell into a loose sprawl.

Enjolras gave him a mild glare before continuing, “Anyway, I ran into him. Fairly literally. We bickered, then I apologized, then we bickered some more, then he apologized. Somewhere in there I thanked him for his help with the legal stuff and he swam some laps. Then we just… I don’t know, we just talked. Or more like, he talked and I apparently fell asleep.”

His lips quirked in a tentative smile as he remembered how different the other man had been from that angry cynic he’d first met when he was talking about the things that made him happy.

The pronounced slope of his nose and gleam of his stormy blue eyes as he leaned close to tease. How he’d been trusted with the feel of scarred skin beneath his fingers.

How gentle those fingers had been wrapped around his chin…

“Grumpy cynic didn’t seem your type.” Courf teased, dark brow quirked questioningly.

Enjolras shrugged off the implication, clutching the warm mug close to his chest as he gazed over the empty, still water in the daylight.

“It’s not like that. I… I don’t know. There’s just something…  _different_ about him. I’m not sure what it is.”

Courfeyrac looked positively delighted, his glee bordering manic and making Enjolras uneasy, pulling him from his reverie.

“Um. You okay Courf?”

“Darling, I’m going to need you to introduce me.” Courfeyrac demanded, voice suspiciously calm considering his obvious enthusiasm.

That threw him. “What? Why? Besides, haven’t you already met?”

His friend simply shrugged, “Reasons.”

“Reasons.” Enjolras deadpanned, staring incredulously at the brunette.

“Can’t I want to meet your new friend?” On anyone else, the picture of innocence Courfeyrac was imitating might have been convincing, but after all these years Enjolras had learned to see the devious machinations when his friend got an idea in his head that usually ended badly for Enjolras.

“I’d hardly call Grantaire my friend, Courf.’” Enjolras intones bitterly, taking another deep gulp of his coffee, remembering how easily Grantaire had dismissed him as more than a contestant just hours before.

The brunette snorted, shaking his head in exasperation. “Enj, my darling boy, you are so oblivious sometimes.”

Before Enjolras could retort, tanned hands were ripping the blanket off his lap and pulling him roughly to his feet.

Courfeyrac shuffled them through the doors and past the growing crowd of contestants and crew milling about.

“We can talk about this later. For now, Musichetta is waiting to doll you up for your date and I’m sure I have the perfect outfit for you. Not to mention you reek, love.”

Enjolras frowned, pausing in the hallway he’d just been directed to. A quick inhale made his nose wrinkle. He’d been running hard just a few hours before and the stench of sweat was permeating.

“God, I hope I didn’t smell like this around Grantaire.” He muttered to himself.

Courfeyrac made a strangled noise. He shifted his attention to the brunette in alarm.

His friend waved him off. “Never mind me. Just… go take your shower. Try not to enjoy it too much.”

Enjolras watched in bemusement as his friend made a hasty retreat back to their rooms, unsure what that was all about.

The line to the shower was blessedly empty by the time he arrived. He intended to take full advantage of the time alone to scrub himself clean. Yet as he let the water pour over him, his mind quickly took him back to that morning. How the water had moved and lapped against his feet with every lap Grantaire had taken. With every scrub of his skin, his body remembered how gentle and calloused fingers had clasped his face.

The memories continued to pour through him, unbidden. Enjolras tried to push them pack, clear his mind to something he could understand. Something he could control. Grantaire wasn’t his friend. They didn’t know each other well enough to be friends. Yet... he was something different that Enjolras didn’t know how to name. Or rather, if he were honest with himself, didn’t want to name.

The obvious answer was lurking in the back of his mind, but he knew lust. This wasn’t it. It was something new.

He growled. Not even in the same room as the other man and he was an infuriating distraction.

Slamming the water off, he snatched the towel off the rack. He barely scrubbed himself clean before wrapping the towel loosely around his waist, sweaty clothes and shoes balled in his free hand.

Walking quickly through the empty halls, he shook his head violently, as if he could shake the thoughts out by sheer will.

Turning the corner to his hallway sharply, he barely had the awareness to take in the sight that was waiting for him.

Halting suddenly in his tracks, he frowned as he tried to make sense of the elaborate set of traps that a young boy in ratty jeans and red shirt seemed to be in the process of setting up.

He looked about 12, with dirty blonde hair falling around his face. Enjolras swore he looked familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it.

“Who are you trying to trap, exactly?”

The boy startled, clearly not expecting company. He quickly recovered though, fixing Enjolras with a calculating smirk that seemed eerily familiar.

“Does the lion tell the antelope when he’s about to pounce?”

Enjolras raised a brow, amused. “Am I the antelope then?”

The boy cocked his head, considering the question. “Suppose it depends.”

“Oh?”

“You gonna help?”

The kid had a wicked gleam in his eye, but the twist of his mouth was almost hopeful. He was clearly bored in the house and looking for some excitement.

Enjolras tried to place whose kid he could possibly be and why he was wandering on his own. He was sure he knew the answer, but it escaped him just then.

“I would be happy to help, kid, but I’m… a bit underdressed at the moment to be much help.” The towel at his waist was starting to loosen. He gripped it tight to keep it from falling.

“If you let me pass unscathed to my room to change I’ll be happy to come help.”

The boy frowned. “What’s to keep you from goin’ back on your word? Adults are real good ‘bout lying to get what they want.”

Enjolras approached the boy, kneeling carefully so they were face to face.

“Pinky promise.” He held up his pinkie between them expectantly.

High pitched giggles sounded the air.

“No one does that shit no more, man.” The kid was doubled over as if Enjolras had just told him the best joke all year.

Enjolras felt his face flush in embarrassment, but refused to be cowed by a 12-year-old.

His attempt at negotiation would have to wait however, as he heard footsteps behind him.

“There you are!”

Eponine was standing just a few feet behind him, hands on her hips, in a tight long sleeved grey dress that fell just above her knees. Her feet were bare and she was breathing slightly heavy. It clicked finally where he’d seen the kid before.

“He yours?”

Eponine sighed, “In a manner of speaking.”

She passed him, looking at him just long enough to give him a disapproving glare at his state of undress in front of her kid.

Grabbing the boy’s arm she crouched in front to level him with a look of disappointment only parents seem to possess.

“You find him yet?” Came a gruff voice around the corner.

Enjolras froze. Up till now his state of undress had been more inconvenient than anything else. Now all he wished for was to be piled in his warmest sweaters.

“Kid couldn’t have gon --- oh for fuck’s sake.” Grantaire swore violently behind him.

Eponine startled out of the chastisement she was currently giving Gavroche to glare at him.

“Language, asshole.”

Enjolras chanced a peek over his shoulder at Grantaire who had buried his face in hands and was muttering darkly to himself.

He took another look down the hall, frowning. It wasn’t that bad. Yea, Gavroche had made a mess, but it didn’t seem to warrant the reaction Grantaire was giving it.

He stood, turning a bit so he could easily take in all the parties in the hall, clenching his dirty clothes to his chest.

“He’s just bored, R.” He snapped in the boy’s defence.

Eponine and Gavroche both looked up to stare at him in surprise.

“A kid needs an outlet.” He argued as calmly as he could manage, “I’m not trying to tell you how to parent, but hanging around a bunch of adults all the time can’t be terribly exciting for a kid his age. I can help him clean it up.”

Grantaire scoffed, dropping his hands to give him an indignant look.

“Speaking from experience, Apollo?”

Enjolras bristled, irrationally irritated. Was it really only moments before that he’d been musing about how special and unique this asshole was? Just hours before where he thought they’d put this antagonism behind them?

“If I am? What’s your problem, anyway?” He demanded.

The other man rubbed at his face, “I don’t have a problem with Gavroche acting like a kid.”

Enjolras sighed in frustration, “Then what the hell is bothering you so much right now.”

“Yea, _R_.” Eponine put an emphasis on the name that resulted in a dark look from Grantaire. “Something particular in the hall bothering you?”

Grantaire glowered, clenching his jaw and avoiding everyone’s gaze.

Eponine shook her head, giving up on the other man and directing her attention to Enjolras.

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready for your date, anyway?”

Enjolras shrugged. He hadn’t been terribly looking forward to it to begin with.

“Oh for fucks sake.” She muttered to herself.

“Language, asshole.” Grantaire muttered on reflex, still avoiding meeting their eyes.

Gavroche just looked between all of them as if they were the dumbest people he’d ever had to deal with.

“Ok.” Eponine stood, grabbing Gavroche’s hand. “We are going to go find Chetta and clean all of this up. You,” She pointed to Enjolras, “are going to make my job a shit ton easier and go get dressed and be by the front door by ten thirty. And you,” she smacked a hand against Grantaire’s chest, “are gonna stop being a moody asshole for five minutes. Got it?”

Grantaire ducked his head, chagrined.

“Got it.”

“Good.” She snapped, squeezing his hand in her own for a brief moment before pulling Gavroche the way they came.

“Wait.” Gavroche stopped, looking back at Enjolras.

“You owe me, blondie. You promised.”

Enjolras softened, grinning at the kid.

“Pinky promise.” He echoed his earlier words, lifting his pinky in the air between them.

The boy grinned widely, before turning on his heel, dragging Eponine with him.

“You better mean that.” Grantaire was suddenly a lot closer, eyes still not quite looking at him.

Enjolras sighed. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I’m just saying. That kid has had enough people let him down in his life. Don’t offer to be there for him if you don’t mean it.”

Grantaire finally looked at him, with challenge in his eyes.

Enjolras met it with his own. “Try me.”

Dark brows raised speculatively, nearly disappearing in a mass of black curls.

“Next time he needs someone to curb his pranking needs, I’m happy to watch him.” Enjolras said, trying to imbue the challenge in his tone with earnest sincerity.

He’d figured that would make Grantaire happy or at least back off, but if anything he looked pained.

“You’ve got to stop doing that,” he groaned, head drooping, and eyes falling shut again. The space between them had somehow closed to the point where he could practically feel the curls brushing his face.

“Doing what?” He snapped, confused at the way the other man managed to keep him both close and at arms-length.

“The right thing.” He muttered. Enjolras probably wouldn’t have even been able to hear it if they hadn’t been so close.

“That’s a bad thing?”

Grantaire’s lips quirked, refusing to open his eyes and just look at him. “Depends on your point of view.”

Enjolras frowned, “Exactly what point of view is that?”

Blue eyes snapped up in response, boring into him and freezing him in place. They stood there just watching each other for a long moment, Enjolras’ damp skin growing cold while Grantaire’s frown grew deeper. The other man was the first to break the stare, blinking slowly and averting his gaze.

“I think now is a good time for you to go get ready for your date.” Grantaire distanced himself once more, striding to the corner the others had disappeared around. “Maybe I’ll see you later.”

Enjolras frowned.

“You’re not going with the crew?” He called after him, feeling a bit off kilter.

“Believe me when I say me being on your date is the last thing either of us wants.” The other man snarked. “Emily will watch your back. I’ve got to hold down the fort here.”

Grantaire gave a short, half wave before disappearing around the corner, leaving Enjolras to frown at his retreating form more confused than ever with an unpleasant clench in his stomach.

He shouldn't care about being brushed off by a man who told him to his face they weren't friends.

He shouldn't care that in the early hours it had felt like maybe they had hope of being more than this endless antagonism.

He shouldn't care. He never cared.

Fuck.

Why did he care?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! Hope that was worth the wait. I'd love to hear your thoughts. I'm working to finish the next chapter as quickly as I can before my fall break ends and classes resume.


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